Home Run
by caswingsuniverse
Summary: Cas is the Photography Editor for the school newspaper and has to travel with the boys baseball team in order to document their first championship. Dean, the head player, doesn't know how to act around the strange kid who hides behind a camera lense. **some homophobia, cursing, violence and mild sexual content
1. Chapter 1

I flip through the photos on my camera, frowning at the blurred lines and uneven frames. Next to me, Charlie taps away at her laptop, finishing up a feature on student government as Ruby argues with Meg on some issue on the news yesterday.

Deleting photo after photo, I finally found one that matched my standards. "Charlie, I got your SGA photo picked out. I'll put it on the flash drive when the meeting is over."

Her shoulders slump with relief and she pats my cheek, red hair falling out of her bun. "Thanks, Cas. You are a life saver."

I smile at her, looking up when Naomi strides up to the table, clapping her hands.

"Alright my lovely editorial staff, with a new semester beginning I have decided to reassign beats."

Charlie raises an eyebrow at me, saving her document before leaning back in her chair. Balthazar winks at me and I wink back, silently thanking him for whatever word he put in Naomi's ear about my reassignment. I cross my fingers underneath the table.

"I feel as if these choices are self-explanatory. So, Meg you are Editorial page editor. Ruby, Features editor. Charlie, Entertainment editor. Castiel, Photography and Design editor. And I will naturally be News editor along with duties as editor-in-chief."

The lot of us smile and give each other high fives. Charlie shoves my knee under the table, grinning as I laugh a little in excitement. Our meeting continues as usual, discussing deadlines and preparing for advertisements. As it ends, we stuff our messenger bags with article drafts and academic homework.

"Oh, and Castiel?" Naomi calls before I step out the door. Turning, I raise an eyebrow. "As our lead photographer, I need you to take action shots for the baseball championship. It's the end of the season and we need a good picture to go with the front page article."

My jaw drops. I sputter for a couple moments, scratching the back of my head. "You want… sports Naomi? You know how I feel about those… steroid addicted assholes."

Naomi nods, her hands folded on the laminate table. "I am aware of that, Castiel. But Samandriel is not capable of producing work of such quality yet, and Uriel doesn't know what a shutter button is…"

I hold up a hand, sighing. "Stop. I'll do it. For the sake of good photography and journalism."

Naomi nods, reordering the papers in front of her. The clock ticks behind us, counting the seconds until the first bell. It's Friday, one of those days where every second is an obstacle until the freedom of the weekend. We sit in the enveloping silence as I wait for the worse news. Sports photographers…

"You will have to travel with the team of course. I don't want photos from other sources, Castiel."

I twist the strap of my leather messenger bag in a short moment of anger. "I understand. The game happens next week, correct?"

She nods stiffly again. "You at least don't have to write the articles. I've left that to Zachariah."

Smirking, I yank open the door and walk into the hallway. "Thank you for the act of mercy, your highness."

I can hear her quiet laughter as the door closes and I take a deep breath. School hallways are sort of creepy without students to fill the cement tunnels with gossip and jokes. 7:53. People should start piling in soon, cracking open lockers in a symphony of groans and complaints and plans for the weekend. I lean against my locker, sliding to the floor and tilting my head against the cool metal. Closing my eyes, I soak in the little bits of conversation around me, fingers tracing over the buttons and curves of my camera.

I drifted into a state of half sleep, breath slow and comfortable when a pair of Chuck Taylor's crash into my calves, forcing a heavy body onto my lap.

My eyes shoot open, only to drown in a set of emerald irises in a horizon of freckles. I open my mouth to say something when the color is snatched away by the brawny hands of Crowley.

"Wow, Winchester, don't squash him." He chuckles as if he somehow had made a joke, letting go of Dean's jacket. Dean Winchester had been sitting in my lap. Dean star-of-the-baseball-team Winchester. He holds out a calloused hand to me, which I take so he can lift me off the ground.

"Sorry about that, Novak."

"Um… it's okay." Dean squeezes my hand briefly before letting it go.

"You finish that physics homework?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course." I swallow and look at Crowley over his shoulder.

Dean offers a friendly smile, saying a casual, "see ya in class" before entering a ring of back pounding from other teammates. Charlie saunters up, tapping the side of my head to break my gaze.

"Earth to Castiel, we've got a class to pass. Can we go?"

I shake my head a couple times, turning to fiddle with my lock. "Yes, Mothership."

I look at her in my side vision, smirking when she rolls her eyes in exasperation. Chuckling, I slam my locker closed just as the bell rings.

Young the Giant sighs from my stereo as I flip through a National Geographic catalog. Sunlight dims against my blinds as I hum along, feeling the paper crinkle under my fingertips. My packed suitcase squats on the floor next to my bed, camera case perched on top. I tear out a picture of the Titanic, an ambient photo that captures the haunting color of the shipwreck. A color most said matched my eyes.

As I tape up the picture with my growing collage, Gabriel steps into my room snacking on a bag of gummy bears. He crashes into my mattress, smiling up at me as I wobble and grab the headboard. "What's up with the bags, Cassie?"

"I have an assignment next week for journalism. I have to travel with the boy's baseball team to the state championship."

Whiskey colored eyes look up at me, a gummy bear flying into the air and landing in his mouth. "Let me get this straight, you're going to watch baseball all weekend. For no other reason but to take pictures of hot guy's asses?"

I roll my eyes and grab Gabriel's bag of candy, popping a couple into my mouth. Leaning against the headboard, I think about the seniors on the team. Dean, Crowley, Michael, Alastair, and Uriel, all fairly attractive. Pursing my lips, I nod. "Football involves asses. Baseball is profiles of the faces, chests and thighs."

Gabriel snorts and pats my thigh. "Sounds hot either way, lil bro. I give you my blessing. Tell Chuck yet?"

"Yeah told him as soon as I got home."

He nods, snatching his bag back before skipping out of the room. "Toodles, Cassie."

"Goodnight, Gabriel."

I settle onto my bed, turning the music off and staring at the wall in silence. I'd have to share a room with one of the players. Coach Singer had already given me the paperwork with a gruff smile and greeting. He said that there was already an odd number of guys on the team, so it would work out well. If I bite my lip anymore, it's probably going to start bleeding.

Memories of middle school start scrolling past in my mind. Memories of standing in the locker room, uncomfortable as the other boys changed around me. Memories of Alastair and a couple of other guys shoving me into the shower wall and screaming slurs into my ear. Memories of the crack of bone against tile, of sneakers smacking into chest, of blood and bile mixing in my mouth. When I passed out Alastair turned on the cold water, slapping me awake. Their smiles cut through me, getting lodged in my center, splinters buried to deep. Their laughter settled in between my temples in a migraine that still hasn't gone away. Their hands followed me like thunder follows lightning, booming against my slim body.

I could just imagine what hell was in store for me next week. The pranks, the derogatory comments, the flashbacks to the days of my budding identity and the times people tried to kill it. Shaking my head to be rid of the thoughts, I curled up under my blankets and fell asleep.

Charlie bounces around me, phone in her pocket for once instead of lighting up Tumblr. I scan the bus loading zone around us, the empty parking lot, the three yellow bodies puffing carbon dioxide, and the sun fighting for dominance of the sky. A cool breeze rustles the empty branches of trees as a sleek black Chevy Impala purrs into the parking lot. Dean hops out, leaving the keys in the ignition so his father can slide into the driver's seat.

He bends over to grab a couple duffle bags out of the back seat, and Charlie whistles, elbowing me. Looking away proves to be the best solution for my burning cheeks. Thoughts chase each other in my mind as he waves to the retreating vehicle and steps onto the curb with us.

"Morning." He smiles, setting the bags at his feet. "Y'all ruined my reputation. Normally I'm the first poor bastard here."

Charlie gapes at him before turning to me, moving her eyes to gesture that I should talk to him. Biting the inside of my cheek, I answer quietly. "My apologies. It was not my intention to taint your reputation."

Green eyes flash with a small smile. He pats my back with a little too much force, but chuckles. "It's all good, man. Nothing I'm too worried about. Just the end of the world."

Dean winks before turning to watch the others drive through the parking lot. Coach Singer does a head count, ordering a couple boys to load up the back of the bus with their supplies. As boys pile onto the bus, Charlie hugs me, patting my cheek. "Try to have fun, Castiel. It won't be all bad. If you have a problem, just call me and I'll beat the shit out of them."

I smile at her. "Of course, Mothership."

She kisses my cheek, shoving me towards the bus. Waving, I hop up the short steps, scanning the rows of blue for an open seat. I shuffle towards the back, looking at the free space next to Alastair, who smirks at me.

"Need some place to sit, Novak?"

"That would be much appreciated, yes."

Alastair pets his duffle bag as if to stretch it out to take up more space. Black eyes glint when the bus lurches forward and the bus driver shouts for me to sit. I grip the seats to keep from lunging forward, my bags swinging under my arm.

"Crowley, go sit with Al," a low voice says behind me, and suddenly the shorter boy spins me around to take the space. I turn around to see Dean, waving for me to sit with him. Swinging my bags around, sit in the empty space with my stuff in my lap.

"Hello, Winchester."

Small smile. "Hey."

I stare at my bags, watching light flash brightly against the fabric. The loud jostle of tires on asphalt, wind whistling through windows and cacophony baritone voices lull me into a daze of anxiety and critical thinking. Coach Singer would mind me, would know to not pair me with Alastair for a room. If anything, I could just ask for a room switch. There's nothing wrong with that, I could do that. It wouldn't be much of an inconvenience if I say something before anyone gets settled.

Next to me, Dean watches the trees and grass become a blur, bobbing his head to some song he quietly hums. My head tilts unconsciously, something I correct when I realize what he's humming.

"Proud Mary?" I ask quietly, half hoping he won't hear me over the noise.

His head whips around, eyes twinkling with a smile before his lips turn up. "You know Creedance Clearwater Revival?"

I grin back, squirming feel more comfortable against the hot plastic seats. "CCR is one of my favorites."

He turns towards me, back leaning against the window. "Yeah? I never pegged you for the classic rock type."

Raising an eyebrow, I smirk at him, twisting a bag strap around my fingers. "What did you peg me for then, Winchester?"

Laughter rumbles from him and I can't help but grin. "I don't know, Novak. You're just sorta nerdy is all."

"So that automatically means I don't listen to classic rock?"

He purses his lips, squinting at me as if to analyze my worthiness. "I guess not. What other bands do you listen to?"

Shrugging, I shove my bags under my feet, tapping my knees. "Anyone really. Music is a very interesting escape. CCR, Kansas and the Zombies are classic. "

Dean nods agreeably. "I'm a Metallica fan myself."

Companionable silence falls over us and the excitement of the team simmers into lethargy. I take out my camera. I snap candid shots of the team drifting into sleep, refocusing to take action shots of trees flashing by. Dean watches when I settle into my steadied pose, elbows held out in case the bus stopped. From behind the camera I watch him shake his head, an action I capture as quickly as it happens.

"What got you into photography?" he says.

I rest my camera on my chest, biting my lower lip. It is customary to ask generalized, yet personal, questions when you first meet someone and want to know them better. But no one had ever asked me why I focused so much on my art, not even my family when I asked for my first camera.

I clear my throat, tracing the buttons on my Canon and avoiding his gaze. His warm hand rests on top of mine, stilling my nervous tick and forcing me to look up.

"I get it, man. It's personal," he says, staring at our hands. Gaping at him, I grip my camera and move my jaw in an attempt to fill the void of his silence. His eyes crinkle around the edges, but no longer in amusement. His gaze turns back to the window, body pulling away and leaning against the window.

"In every second that passes we simultaneously live in the past, present and future," I say. His shoulders tense, but I keep going anyway. "I want to capture those profound moments, even if it seems like a simple scene. That moment will never exist again, except in the photograph."

Looking down at his lap, then back up at me, he smirking a little. "So that's why you, Castiel Novak, refined photographer for the school newspaper, is traveling across the state of Kansas with a bunch of aggressive, thick skulled goons who play baseball?"

I chuckle quietly, aware of the snores around me. "Yes. I'm here to take pictures of goons in their natural habitat."

And I wish I could take a picture of his smile, because the genuine shine of it will never exist again.


	2. Chapter 2

When the bus pulls up into the check-in loop at the hotel, a Marriott, it's late afternoon. Dark sunlight colors the team in an almost celestial light as they stretch and wait for Coach Singer to come back. I take a panorama of the bus, a possible banner for a larger photo gallery I can pitch for the next web update of the paper. Sitting back to look at the photo before packing my camera, I notice Dean snoring, light glowing in his brown hair. With a small smile, I take a couple of individual shots of him as well.

Coach Singer's gruff voice shakes the boys into alertness when he steps back onto the bus. Dean snorts awake, wiping his mouth with the back of hand.

"Okay boys, I got us checked in. I have your room keys, so once everyone gets off the bus, I'll distribute them to y'all. Make sure to grab all of your gear."

Loud whoops fill the bus as the team stands and stampedes towards the door. I stand quickly, almost falling backwards on Dean. He grabs my arm, standing up next to me. "Do I really smell that bad, Novak?"

I try to hide the slight blush on my cheeks with a laugh. "There is this new concept called showering, Winchester. I suggest you familiarize yourself with it if you ever want a date to prom."

Dean shoves my shoulder, shaking his head at my comeback. "No need to worry, man. My skills and dashing good looks make up for that."

"You besties going or what?" Alastair snaps, cutting through our joking air with black eyes. I swallow and nod, walking into the aisle before him, tripping over his foot. I glare over my shoulder at him before silently marching off the bus and standing to the side of the team.

Dean looks at me for a second before Crowley wraps an arm around his shoulder and steers him closer to Coach Singer. Rubbing the back of my neck to work out a knot, I watch Coach pass out room keys silently, the boys comparing room numbers to find their roommates. He smiles at me as he hands me my room key, _CAS 215_ written in his jagged hand writing on the paper holder. He claps his hands loudly, standing next to me.

"Alright then boys, go get settled. Dinner's downstairs at 7. And remember, ya'll are representing our school, so _behave._" He makes a shooing motion with his hands and the team moves for the sliding door entrance.

I walk beside Coach Singer in silence, staring at my feet. He messes with his ball cap before looking at me. "You know, Novak, I'm awful glad your editor sent you."

I gape at him, stuttering. "What? Why? I'm the worst kid in your gym class."

He chuckles and pats my shoulder hard. "Novak, you may be a fish outta water when it comes to sports, but you're damn good at photography. I've seen the pictures you've taken this year for the paper, and I'm impressed. I'm glad you're the one documenting the team's first championship."

We stop in the lobby and I smile. "Well I'm honored Coach. I'll do my best to take some great shots."

He nods, lifting his cap a little in salute. "I know you will, Novak. See you at dinner."

I head towards the elevator, humming over the clack clack of my suitcase wheels over white tiles. I stride down the hall, shaking my head when I hear the loud voices of some of the players. Taking a deep breath, I feed the door my key and enter the room.

The person who came in here first had already claimed the bed closest to the window, suitcase already shoved under the bed and a pair of Chuck Taylor's left in the middle of the floor. The bathroom door is closed, the shower already running. I set my things next to the bed, falling onto the mattress with a sigh. I send a quick text to Charlie that I made it to the hotel without incident, then close my eyes, resting until the bathroom became available.

I float in a half asleep state, going through angles and vantage points and possible frames. I haven't seen the field yet, so I base my loose plans on our home field. 15 minutes into my brainstorming session, the bathroom door pulls open to let out a puff of steam. I peak open my eyes only to blush and close them again, trying to stay calm.

"You asleep, Novak?"

I open my eyes and lean up on my elbows, trying to keep a straight face. "Yeah."

Water drips from spikes of hair, hand holding up a towel around his waist. I find it hard to not stare at his chest, wishing I had my camera out. He kneels to pull out some clothes, glancing up at me with a smile.

"Hope you don't mind that I went ahead and took a shower. That trip did make me a little ripe."

I nod and fall back against the mattress, putting my arm over my face. Taking a deep breath, I say, "That's alright. I wasn't going to take one til after dinner anyway."

"Cool," is his short reply. When I don't hear the bathroom door close again, I move my arm and gasp. Dean faces away from me, dropping his towel to the floor to give me an unobstructed view of his backside. I stare, frozen, as he pulls on a pair of boxers and jeans, leaving them unbuttoned as he reaches to pick up the towel and fold it. I look away just as he turns toward me again, stretching to make myself look somewhat normal and unaffected.

"Bobby said dinner was at seven right?"

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, Coach Singer. Sorry, I normally call him Bobby."

I sit up on my bed, crossing my legs to watch him brush his hair in the mirror. "You call Coach Singer by his first name?"

Dean's eyes meet mine in the mirror. He holds my gaze for a minute, then continues to brush his hair. "He's a close family friend. I've known him since I was four. He's the one that taught me how to throw a ball around."

He clears his throat before I can say anything else, buttoning up his pants and pulling a black v-neck shirt over his head. Snatching a red and black flannel shirt out of his suitcase, he turns to me with arms spread wide.

"I look alright?"

I nod silently, looking away when he shoves his feet into socks and shoes. He hums to himself again, putting his cellphone and wallet into his pockets when he stands. "See ya at dinner."

"Yeah… see ya," I say as he leaves the room, rolling onto my side to set an alarm so I could nap before dinner.

I wake up to the sound of the door opening and Dean shushing another male voice. "He's asleep, asshole."

"I care because?" Alistair.

Dean sighs, walking slowly past my bed and sitting on his own. I keep my eyes closed and breathing slow even as I hear Alastair fall onto Dean's bed with a thud. "You feel comfortable with sharing a room with a faggot?"

I cringe, and silently curse myself for moving while shuffling a little so they think I just move in my sleep. They sit in silence for a couple moments, making sure I'm not awake.

"Novak's gay?" Dean asks after a couple moments. I thank God for the pillow hiding my face as I blush.

Alastair scoffs. "Flaming, Winchester. Weasel of a bastard probably begged Naomi to be sent on this trip so he could watch us change or some shit."

I could feel Dean's gaze on my back and hold my breath for a second until he responded. "I don't think so, man."

"Then why do you think the only gay guy on newspaper staff is here with the all boy baseball team?"

Dean stays silent for a couple moments, then sighs. "I don't know. Because he's a weird guy, ok? He's a weird dorky little guy who likes to take photos of things."

Alastair huffs and Dean's bed squeaks when relieved from his weight. "Alright, Winchester. You're the one who has to share a room with him."

"Yeah I guess I am…" Dean mumbles to himself as Alastair leaves the room.

I take a deep breath, sighing into the pillow. Dean laughs to himself; I hear him stand and walk over to my bed. His shadow looms over me in the darkening room. "Sleep well, Novak?"

I roll over and blink up at him. "Dean…"

Dean looks at the space left on my bed and sits on the edge. Using my elbows, I pull myself up against the headboard, moving my legs away from him. He runs a hand through his hair, then looks at me. "Was what he said true?"

"Which part?"

"Did you ask to be put on this assignment?"

"Because I like men?"

Dean rubs his palms on his jeans, closing his eyes and sighing. He chooses to not say anything else. I scoff, getting off the bed and shoving my feet into my black Vans.

"No. I did not ask to be put on this assignment. Naomi asked me to do a job, and I'm here to do it. Besides, no one on the team meets my standards for a partner anyway."

I snatch up my camera bag, putting the room key and my cellphone into my back pocket. Dean watches as I run my fingers through my tangled mess of bedhead. I turn to him with my hands in my pockets, staring at bed comforter instead of his face. "You don't have to worry about my sexuality, Winchester."

With a sigh, I move to the door. Just as the lock clicks open, his low voice whispers, "Where are you going?"

"Dinner, it's 6:50. It'll give me ten minutes away from everyone." I close the door behind me, holding the door handle for a couple seconds. I shake my head, speed walking down the hallway towards the elevator.

Down in the lobby, few people amble about. The bright white couches seem to glimmer with disuse, perfectly clean. I snort, feeling personally offended that this piece of cheap furniture is completely isolated from the nasty people around it. Huffing, I crash into the stiff cushions, smirking to myself as I pull out my camera and hang it around my neck.

Light beams straight into the lobby, catching on the glass doors, vases and mirrors in flashes of rainbows. Tongue sticking out in concentration, I mess with the settings on my camera to try and capture the improvised prisms. Noise filters in, led by stretching shadows until bodies begin to pass in front the lens. They clump together, waiting for Coach Singer to lead them to their pre-game feast.

"Having fun taking pretty pictures, Novak?"

Dean walks behind his large form, waiting with the others, silent in their group of chatter. I grin up mockingly at Alastair, fingers tightly gripping the camera. "Very much so, Alastair. Taking pictures of beauty now makes up for having to take pictures of your odious face tomorrow."

Alastair's forehead turns red, a vein pulsing close to his temple. Garth and Crowley, who happened to be walking by, stop. Garth breaks the tense silence in a burst of laughter, pounding Alastair's back. "You've just been told, Al. By Castiel Novak no less."

Garth moves past Alastair to sit next to me, holding out his hand. I offer him a small smile as he slaps my open palm. "My name's Garth Fitzgerald IV."

I nod, glancing up at Alastair's angry face, who turns away to talk to Dean. Their hunched shoulders and eyes that wander towards mine send a shiver down my spine. I look away and at Garth, watching him sit back against the wall next to me. His legs stretch out and arms cross loosely on his chest. Garth isn't bulky like Alastair or Crowley, but he isn't built well like Dean or Michael. He's thin and lanky. Obviously fit, but not bulging with muscle mass.

"So, Castiel. Who you think is gonna win the first game tomorrow? Us superstars or those sock puppets, The Warriors."

I frown jokingly, stroking my chin. "I don't know. I guess you 'superstars' will win."

He points a finger at me, laughing. "Good answer, Castiel, or you'd have some real angry baseball players to mess with."

Running a hand through my hair, I force the laughter through my chest. "I already do…" I mumble to myself, aware of Alastair and Dean's stares beside me.

Garth nods as if he's heard me, patting my shoulder as Coach Singer turns around the corner. He waves us forward, coming towards Garth and I while everyone rushes into the restaurant.

"You boys going?" He smiles, holding an arm out for us to lead the way.

Garth stands quickly, tapping Coach Singer's cap with a finger. He waits for me to stand, nodding his head for me to follow.

"You can eat with me, Castiel. I know all the other guys give outsiders crap."

I hold my camera, smiling at his welcome attitude as we sit at the table next to Dean, Benny and Crowley's. Dean looks at me then down at his plate while Benny points a straw at Garth.

"What do ya mean by that, brother. I ain't been giving you no shit."

Garth scoffs, claiming the chair next to him and leaving me the booth space next to Dean. I put my camera case between us, using the menu as a shield from his gaze. "Benny, you're a goddamn liar if I ever saw one. What did y'all call me when I first started on the team? It was something completely ridiculous."

"Shitstick," Dean laughs, looking between Garth and I as he fiddles with his cellphone. The other boys burst into laughter as Alastair sits on Dean's other side. Dean moves away from Alastair and closer to me, leg bouncing below the table.

"That's right! You wieners called me shitstick. That doesn't even make any sense!"

A couple waitress's tackle the group in sections, a waiter stopping in front of me with a small smile. His eyes sat on me for a couple seconds before taking in the rest of the table.

"I'm Balthazar and I'll be your server for the night. What can I get you fellas to drink?" He leans against the booth next to me, blonde curly hair styled up. Dean's leg stop bouncing when he looks up.

Alastair, Benny and Crowley order Dr. Pepper, Dean and Garth order Cokes, and I look at the back of the menu for a second before looking up at the older man with a smile. "I'll have a water with lemons, thank you."

Balthazar smiles, looking at his notebook. "So I have three doctored peppers, two colas and a lemon water. I'll be right back with that."

I watch him saunter away, before turning back to the other boys scanning their menus. Chatter fills the dining room as everyone contemplates their orders. In the buzz, I relax into the booth and take in the scene. Our team, the Angels, are not the only one in the hotel for the next week. School colors and mascot logos decorate the room more consistently than the faux country décor. Taking a couple shots of the groups, blurred so the action looks more artistic and no one yells about copyright, I set to looking through the photos from today. I delete the ones from when we first arrived, staring at the one of Dean for a second longer before selecting the trash can. I glance at the corporal boy beside me, watching him tear a napkin into little pieces on the table.

Balthazar comes up again, a tray of drinks balanced perfectly on his palm. His back arches in a soft curve, black jeans and button up shirt shaping his frame well. I offer an appreciative smile as he passes out the drinks and prepares to take our order.

I order a mushroom swiss burger and hand him the menu. Turning to Dean, he smiles slightly before ordering a Applewood smoked bacon cheeseburger. The smile teases another blush to my cheeks and I scowl at my drink as conversation starts up again. The topic had moved towards game statistics, and their chances of beating particular teams. Terms I vaguely understood floated in and out of my mind as I get lost in the flow of babble. Before I know it, everyone is clearing space for the large plates coming our way. Dean looks around for a place to get rid of his pile of napkin shreds, eyebrows furrowed. Unfolding my own, I lean closer to him and scoop up the trash and put it inside. I've refolded it and placed the trash on the edge of our table when Balthazar and another waitress reappear with dinner. Dean looks at me, jaw working as if to say something, then focuses on Balthazar as he passes out plates.

"So I've got two chicken tender baskets for bean pole and muscle man, a slider sampler with extra fries for schoolyard bully, barbeque chicken and ribs for bayou boy, bacon burger for Ken doll and a mushroom swiss for baby blues."

In my peripheral vision, Dean's eyes lock on my face when Balthazar puts the plate in front of me. I can't help but laugh quietly at his labels for everyone and their semi-accuracy. He puts his hands on his hips, surveying his steaming work. "Anything else I can get you fellas?"

Everyone shakes their heads, mouths already full with the first bite.

"Thank you, Balthazar," I say.

He winks, wiping his hands on his apron and handing me some extra napkins. "You're welcome, darling."

His figure disappears around the corner and Dean turns to his meal. On the top napkin is his name and a number. I smile, putting it into my camera case before digging in to one of the best burgers I've ever had.

Once back in our room, Dean grabs his clothes and locks himself in the bathroom. He changes quickly and hops onto his bed. I take my time removing my shoes and pulling out my pajamas. When I step out of the bathroom with a damp face and minty breath, Dean raises an eyebrow.

"I thought you were taking a shower in the morning?"

I shrug. "I like morning showers better. Help clean away sleep."

He grunts to himself, typing away at his phone. With a sigh, I lie on my stomach, taking my own phone in hand and pulling the folded napkin from my case. Looking up at Dean, I type the number into my phone and send a text.

**C:_ Thanks for the burger _****_J_**

**B: _Baby blues?_**

**C: _Castiel_**

**B: _Nice name. U w/ the baseball crowd? _**

**C: _Taking pictures of the baseball crowd. I'm the photo editor for the paper._**

**B: _Oh, a journalist. Very cultured. _**

**C: _Haha, yeah I guess you could say that._**

**B: _Interesting. Photography ur thing? _**

**C: _Very much so, it's my dream career. _**

**B: ****_J_****_ Well I'm sure ur amazing at it, love_**

**C: _Thank you _****_J_****_ Balthazar?_**

**B: _If u r wondering my intentions, don't fret. I'm not trying to "get in ur pants" Castiel. I saw a good looking boy in a crowd of jocks, an interesting story._**

**C: _You sound like a journalist yourself ;)_**

**B: _lol I'm an observer. sociology major at the uni downtown_**

**C: _Uni? Congratulations. _**

**B: _Thanks, love _****_J_****_ I'm a freshman this year, no worries bout my age ;)_**

**C: _Hahaha well I have to go to bed. Long day tomorrow. TTYL?_**

**B: _Anytime, Castiel. Goodnight _****_J_**

I stare at the screen for a couple moments longer before sending Charlie, Gabriel and Chuck quick good night texts, promising to provide more details later. Sighing, I roll onto my back and put my phone on its charger. Dean, who already lies on his side, watches me stretch with a slight frown.

"Yes, Winchester?"

He squints at me for a second, mumbling, "He's wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"Your eyes are ocean blue, not baby blue." And with that he rolls over and doesn't say another word.


	3. Chapter 3

_Smoke on the Water _starts blaring through the room and I groan. The music stops and I hear Dean yawn behind me. "If you want to shower I'd do it now. We go to breakfast in half an hour."

I grumble into my pillow, before snatching up my phone and yanking open my suitcase. Dean's chuckle tickles my insides in a way I'd rather ignore as I pull out a loose pair of jeans and my Angels tee shirt.

"Nice bed head, Novak."

I flip him the bird as I stomp to the bathroom, glaring at my groggy reflection. My hair sticks up in different directions around my head, a messy black halo. I continuously grumble curses at the world, newspaper, and Dean Winchester as I take a quick shower. With the water not turned on, I can hear Dean's voice in the room. Led Zepplin plays softly under his low voice as he sings along to _Ramble On. _I shove my feet through the legs of my jeans, fabric sticking to my damp skin.

Cracking the door open, I let his voice fill the bathroom as I lean over the sink and shave. I find myself humming along while I wash my face of any more shaving cream and hair. Looking close at the mirror, I realize I hadn't taken out my contacts last night. Curses leak from mouth like water from the sink as I take them out and put them in solution. I put on my black, square glasses as the door creaks open. I look over my shoulder to see Dean lean against the doorframe. Green eyes scan the bathroom and my bare back, meeting my gaze daringly.

He watches silently as I try to get every curl to stay close to my scalp. He comes up to me and grabs my shoulders, turning me around to face him. Examining my hair, he reaches up and runs relaxed fingers through it, dragging up. I flinch away, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as I try to ignore the tingling in my scalp. He steps back, examining his work before looking down at his feet.

"I have some hair gel if you really want to flatten it out, but it looks better like that. Everyone digs sex hair."

I turn back to the mirror and shrug. When I don't respond he bites his lip and grabs his toothbrush. I back away for him to use the sink, carefully pulling on my shirt and sliding my arms into a blue and black flannel to match. Dean focuses on his own reflection as he scrubs his teeth. After drying his face, he stands in the middle of the bathroom, arms crossed on his chest.

"Can I help you?" I ask, leaning against the counter to put on my socks and shoes.

"No, just waiting so we can go down to breakfast." He looks at the space next to my head, finger tips white where they tense on his biceps.

I stare at him for a second, trying to figure out what he's getting at before checking my pockets. "Let me grab my camera and we can go."

He smiles as I walk around him, fixing the strap of my case on my shoulder. As we head out the door, ACDC rings from Dean's pocket. He pulls his phone out and reads the ID with a smile before answering.

"Hey, Lisa." There's a pause where he looks at me and starts towards the lobby. I follow silently, trying not to let the stomach acid taste in the back of my mouth bother me. He murmurs into the receiver, listening for Lisa's response and then laughing. I frown at the geometric design on the carpet, trying to ignore the anger building in my chest for a girl who isn't in the room.

Up ahead, Garth closes the door behind him and Benny as he catches sight of us. I speed up to fall into step next to him, leaving Dean behind us.

"Morning, Castiel. Who's Deano on the phone with?"

"Some girl named Lisa," I say, twisting the strap in my hands as Benny snorts in front of us. He turns to walk backwards, watching Dean behind us. Garth shakes his head with a sad frown.

"Who's Lisa?" I ask, looking between their disapproving expressions.

"Dean's been on and off with her for a while now. It ain't healthy and he knows it." Benny squints as Dean as he hangs up the phone and slides it into his back pocket. He looks up at us, all turned to watch him.

"What?"

Benny shakes his head and Garth rolls his eyes. I look away, letting the relief at their disapproval wash over me. "You know damn well, brother. Lisa? Really?"

"Oh shut the hell up, Benny. She just wanted to catch up, that's all."

Garth raises an eyebrow at Benny. "And that's gonna lead to going out for dinner when we get back to school right? Which is gonna led to a series of dates and make out sessions. Next thing ya know you're taking her to prom and feeling like shit. Dean this has happened before."

Dean scowls at us, gaze meeting my wide one for a moment.

"Come on, Novak." He grabs my arm in a tight grip, pulling me down the hall with him and into the empty elevator. A red mark starts to form on my skin when he lets go and pinches his nose.

"Not like you're gave me a choice, Winchester." The darkness clouding his eyes fades away and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Sorry," is all he says in response.

I stare at him for a moment, my mouth a tight line. A bell dings and the doors open to the lobby. We shuffle out into the lobby in silence, arms close to brushing. The dining hall was empty of people except for an elderly couple in the back. Placing my case on a table with two chairs, I head towards the table with coffee pots. Fresh brew wafts around me as I pour the black liquid into a cup and scoop a couple spoon fulls of sugar into the mixture. Dean sidles up next to me, pouring a cup and leaving it free of sweetness.

He follows me down the line, piling his plate with a bagel, a couple muffins, a waffle, a yogurt, and a fruit cup. I eye the mountain of carbs, only grabbing a bagel, some fruit and a yogurt for myself.

When he stabs his waffle to tear off a chunk and shove it into his mouth, I stop eating. Raising an eyebrow when he notices, he also stops. "Something wrong?"

"It's not my business, but you should really let what Garth and Benny said about Lisa go. You're tense. This isn't going to reflect well at practice today."

He blinks at me, glancing down at his white knuckles. The room around us gradually fills with conversation, Benny and Garth taking a seat with Crowley on the other side of the room. A deep breath sighs from him and I smile in encouragement. He grimaces back, shoveling the waffle into his mouth again.

"What do you think about what they said?"

I look up, meeting his open gaze. Green shimmers in the dull lights of the dining room, almost trusting. "Do I think you should stop connecting with Lisa in a romantic manner?"

Syrup drips from the tip of his fork onto the plate as he waves it in a welcoming gesture. Taking a sip of coffee, I consider his question.

"I don't know the situation so I cannot say for sure." He nods, swallowing and taking a drink of coffee.

"We've been on and off again for a couple years and the last time she said she couldn't keep going with 'us' because I was too impersonal," He meets my gaze head on. "I'm apparently running from emotion. The guys think it's total bullshit."

"And you want my opinion on the matter."

"Outside opinions are insightful. They're unbiased."

He lathers cream cheese onto his untoasted bagel, seemingly unaware of my awed stare.

"You want the gay guy's opinion?"

He studies me for a moment. Half his bagel is gone before he speaks to me again. "I don't care if you're gay. You're smart and sensible. Who else would wear a freaking trench coat to school?"

I somewhat choke on my coffee, placing the cup down and clearing my throat before laughing it away. "I still have that ratty old thing."

His eyes light up when I look up at him, the corner of his lips tilting up in a small curve. "Man, I haven't seen you wear that jacket since…" His smile turns to a frown.

My coffee tastes bitter on my tongue, burning my throat as it trickles down into my stomach. I feel a warm ache travel into my esophagus, and try to tell if it's the coffee or Dean's words. Flashes of the middle school locker room come back into my mind; Dean's then thin back a wall between the punches and me.

"I never did tell you thank you for that, did I?"

Dean stops eating, shaking his head. "Cas that was years ago, besides you made up for it or whatever by helping me pass math that year…"

I hold up a hand, stopping his speech. I tear my bagel into pieces with a sigh, watching the fabric of the insides rip slowly instead of his face. He hasn't called me Cas since middle school. "You might have just been telling your friends to stop, but you were standing up for me, Dean. Even though you didn't know what you were standing up for. That's not something I can pay back…"

He nods his head, rubbing the back of his neck. I tilt my head, biting my lip and wonder if I should even bother asking. His eyebrow raises in question. "Why did you ask Alastair if I was gay if you already knew?"

Silence simmers between us, and I count his breaths to make sure I was still here, in this conversation. Talking to the older, broader version of the 12-year-old boy who I used to call my best friend. A deeper version of his voice fills the humid air of the space between us. "I don't know…"

Chewing my lip allows for my anxiety, the quick minute of over-analyzing my memories of the past day, to find an outlet. It had been a while since we had talked, told the other what was happening in our lives, what our plans for college were, what our new hobbies are, what books we've read and TV shows we watch. Everything had dissipated between us freshman year, dropping silently like feathers. Now all that was left was empty caverns of memories and an old trench coat I had buried in my closet.

I clear my throat, trying to swallow those few years of memories with my coffee. The burning sensation doesn't leave my throat. Glancing up at him, I furrow my eyebrows and change the subject. "Dean, this whole Lisa thing boils down to what you want, not what others say. Are you happy with her?"

He grunts and stabs the paper plate a couple times with his plastic fork before shaking his head to be rid of the conversation. His voice seems flat, when he bluntly says, "The sex is great, but that's about it."

I bite my lip, dipping a bagel piece in cream cheese and examining it closely, memorizing the structure of his cheekbones in the blurred background. Tension slowly starts to leak out of our bubble of space, letting fresh air in so I can breathe again. "And are you happy with a lust-based relationship? You are only in high school."

He nods while I chew, gaze fixed in his plate. His leg bounces under the table like it did last night, and I dip another piece. His voice is but a whisper, as if he doesn't want anyone to hear, not even himself.

"I know I'm only in high school, but I don't think I want that again. I want something a little more."

Lips purse and he looks me head on, searching them. I swallow the burning again. "Then don't go back to her, just stay friends. Find someone who you can have that with, whether it's now or in the future."

Stony eyes soften, his face relaxing into a barely there smile that makes me smile in return. "Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome, Dean. I… hope that helps."

"It does, buddy. You always help."

I blink, surprised at his word choice. How could I always help if I hadn't always been there for him? We sit staring at each other for a minute before a figure wrapped in black stops before our table, tan hands on his hips.

"Well good morning, Baby Blues," Balthazar says, smiling at both Dean and me. Dean frowns at him, fists clenching around his fork and knife. My eyebrows furrow, but I smile back at Balthazar.

"Good morning, Balthazar. How did you sleep?"

His smile grows as he looks Dean up and down, then turns to me again. "Wonderfully, love. You obviously got a lot of beauty rest after we talked because you're looking great. I love the sex hair and Clark Kent glasses combo."

Laughter boils from me as blood rushes to Dean's neck and forehead. He glares at Balthazar, clenching his jaw before looking at me and rolling his eyes. "Could you be any more annoying?" he mumbles, rubbing his forehead.

Balthazar chuckles, resting a light hand on his chest. "Castiel, darling, control your boy toy."

Dean's shoulders tense, and I gape at Balthazar. He winks, smirking. Before Dean can respond or get angry, Coach Singer comes up to the table and pats me on the back, looking at all of us. His eyes linger on Balthazar, taking in the black pants and shirt with a raised eyebrow. Balthazar bows to him slightly, waving in a quick goodbye before making his way towards the kitchen.

"It's good to see you boys getting together okay," Coach Singer says after he leaves.

Red drains from Dean's skin, and there is a slight embarrassed pink on both of our faces. Dean grins up at Coach Singer, picking his fork back up to tackle his fruit bowl. "Yeah, we're getting along fine, Bobby thanks for asking."

He winks at me, and I look down at my lap to hide my blush as Coach Singer pats my back. "Winchester, don't be calling me by my first name at school functions. It's a sign of disrespect. I've got half the mind to write ya up."

Despite his harsh words, there is a playful smile on his otherwise gruff face. Dean laughs while Coach Singer walks away, telling us that warm up starts in 10 minutes. Benny and Garth saunter up to the table, grabbing Dean's shoulders and shaking him into a faster pace.

"Come on dude, scarf it down," Benny says, his wolfish grin open to both of us.

Dean waves him off, shoving some more bites of fruit into his mouth before standing abruptly. I toss a napkin over my own plate and take it to the trash, camera bag on my shoulder. Worn sneakers fall in step next to my own Vans, and I smile at the tiles. Benny and Garth join the team farther ahead, heading for yet another bus in the parking lot.

"So, why did our waiter from last night ask you how you slept?"

I glance over at him; offer a small smile in apology. "Balthazar gave me his phone number at dinner."

"And you decided to text him?"

Shrugging, I fiddle with the Velcro on the front pocket of my case. "I figured why not."

His voice tumbles into a grunt and scoff combined. "Well, at least he got something right this time. You do look good in your glasses."

Early morning sunlight pierces the sky and stabs our eyes as we exit the hotel. I squint at Dean, lips turning up as I scrunch my face and I hope it doesn't look like I'm grimacing. "Thank you?"

He chuckles a little to himself as we step onto the bus, and mumbles, "You're welcome."

Garth smacks the available seat in front of him and Benny, grin wide on his thin face. Dean slides into the seat without a word, looking up at me when I stand in the aisle. "You gonna sit down or what?"

I swallow, looking down at the cool blue plastic. It looks like the Pacific Ocean, choppy waves of unspoken regrets and desires pushing us further apart over the years. I sit slowly, rocking with the movement of the bus as everyone gets on. Dean smiles as he leans against the window, tucking a leg under the other and resting his elbow on the back of the seat. Garth rests his chin on the horizon of the seat, smiling at us. "So, Castiel, how you gonna do this whole photography thing? You're gonna take a bunch of pictures of me right? I'm gonna be on the front page?"

Shaking my head, I chuckle. "Possibly, Garth. Do you think you're front page material?"

Garth's grin almost sparkles with amusement and confidence and he flexes his biceps over the seat. "I'm a freaking model, Novak. 100 percent amazing front-page material. Your readers are gonna increase after this issue."

All four of us laugh, rolling our eyes and shaking our heads. Coach Singer does a head count, smiling and tipping his hat at his team.

"Alrightie boys. Let's get to practice, we gotta game to prepare for."

The cheers of the team fill the bus with waves of anticipation and excitement, shaking our bones with life.


	4. Chapter 4

As the players set up for practice, I sat on the side lines, camera balanced in my lap as I inspect my territory. Like any baseball field, the diamond shape allows for some really straight shots, the lines on the ground becoming great reference points. During practices, I'm allowed to be near home plate so I can get close up profiles of the players in action. The physics and geometry of these boy's bodies as they swing the bat and throw the ball creates a calm over me.

My art is capturing their art as it truly is, not the aggressive, brute nature, but the form of it. Light trickles onto the field from over the bleachers, filling in tan faces with sharp shadows. They squint at each other, squint at me. Garth waves as he practices a couple pitches, ball smacking loudly into Crowley's leather mitt. Coach Singer strolls around, commenting occasionally, but otherwise letting the boys warm up.

After the first 20 pictures and ten solid minutes of watching Dean swing, I move to the bleachers in the outfield and pull out my phone. Charlie had texted good morning, begging for details about the assignment and if there was anyone interesting there. I smile, typing up a quick promise to call her later. Chuck had just texted a simple "morning" without further commentary. Gabriel sent multiple selfies of himself eating Reese's Pieces on various meals. The last text froze me, eyes glancing up at Dean for a second before I respond.

**_B: So wat up w/ Ken Doll this morning?_**

**_C: The boy I was eating breakfast with?_**

**_B: Yeah, &amp; grumpy old man. _**

**_C: Dean and Coach Singer. Coach is a really nice guy once you get past the gruff exterior. He's been very nice to me despite my lack of athletic ability. And Dean…_**

**_B: He's a jealous type. lol_**

**_C: I do not understand what you mean. He did seemed angry that you interrupted our conversation, but not jealous. _**

**_B: &amp; wat kinda convo could that b?_**

I sigh, running a hand down my face and looking up at the sky. Clouds crisscross over blue like a quilt I want to bury myself in and hide from this conversation. I didn't have to tell him, but it would be nice to have outside input. Like Dean said, outside viewpoints can be the most informative.

**_C: Dean and I used to be friends in middle school. For a very short period of time. Things fell out and we haven't talked since freshman year. _**

**_B: Oh don't exaggerate, love. I'm sure he talked to u at least once. lol _**

**_C: XD Yes he has, but you understand what I mean. _**

**_B: I do. Wat happened?_**

**_C: Other boys decided to… attack me and a fight ensued. Dean stepped in, but after that he stopped talking to me. Dean had made the team that year, and I guess being associated with me could take that away from him. _**

**_B: so u stopped talking. And this morning you started talking again?_**

**_C: He asked for advice about a girl. _**

**_B: ooooo dam, Cassie. You poor thing. _**

I squint at the phone, glancing up at the team to be sure they haven't started anything new.

**_C: Why do you say that?_**

**_B: For the person you love to ask your advice about his relationship hurts, and the fact the other person is a girl adds salt to the wound. _**

An "oof" sound escaped my lips, and I stared at the tiny screen with wide eyes. A pain throbs in my chest, something similar to a heartbeat. I scan the field again, holding my phone with white knuckles as I try to swallow the burning sensation that creeps into my throat again.

Dean stands with Garth and Benny, the three of them drinking water and laughing. Dean spots me staring at them and waves, smile bright even across the field. I wave back, eyes blinking to make sure my glasses weren't fogged up.

**_C: He asked if he should stay with a girl he's been off and on with for a while. _**

**_B: oh? &amp; what did u say?_**

**_C: I told him to follow his heart and asked him if he was happy. _**

**_B: &amp; is he? _**

**_C: The sex is great, but he wants something more. _**

**_B: so Ken Doll doesn't actually love Barbie. He wants the apple pie life. _**

I swallow again, biting my lip and closing my eyes. I try to erase the green that floods my vision, swirling around and blending with the red from the sun. The burn in my throat turns into a wildfire in my ribcage, boiling my heart as I squirm uncomfortably.

**_C: It seems so. _**

**_B: Well that's good for you, Cassie darling. _**

**_C: How so?_**

**_B: Are those baby blues blind? You have a chance, take it. _**

**_C: Balthazar, Dean isn't gay_**

**_B: I beg to differ, love. He seemed very unhappy with my flirting. Take a chance. You might strike out, or maybe you'll get a home run ;D_**

I look up at the team again, taking a deep breath to sooth my blood that now boils in my veins. I blush as I watch Dean's bat crack, ball flying through the air and towards me. His hand goes over his eyes as he watches it soar. My phone drops in my lap and I catch the ball. The boys whoop, sending me smiles and thumbs up. Dean laughs with his whole body, holding his stomach as his voice wafts over on the breeze. Home run.

**_C: I better start practicing. _**


	5. Chapter 5

Dean jogs up the bleachers, a towel draped over his shoulder and two water bottles in his hand. He crashes into the seat next to me with a huff, breath uneasy as he coughs from exertion. I lift my hand to rub his back, but stop myself, taking the waters from his hand and opening them instead. He takes the one I offer with a nod and drinks a quarter of it with a quenched sigh.

He leans back, placing his sneakers onto the seat in front of him and stretching his arms as Garth and Benny slowly climb up the bleachers.

"That was one helluva catch, Cas. You sure you aren't a baseball player in hiding? Like some secret superpower you haven't awakened yet?"

Our combined chuckles are breathless, his from practice, mine from shock. Benny and Garth look at us and smile, sharing their own conversation as they sit beside us.

"No, I'm not hiding a superpower. I just did Little League for a year or two when I was in elementary school. That's all."

All three boys shimmer with sweat in the noon sunlight, heat hammering against us with each beat of our hearts. He jabs an elbow against mine, laughing breathlessly again. "Come on, Novak let's see what you got."

"Dean I don't really think this is-"

His hot hand wrapping around mine and dragging me out of my seat speaks his objection. I trip over my converses when they hit green turf. As I straighten myself and catch my breath, Dean races to grab a bat, a ball and a set of mitts. Garth and Benny cheer me on from the bleachers.

"Take off your flannel," he orders while setting the ball and mitt on the ground next to me.

"What?"

"Take off your flannel, it's gonna constrict your arms and screw up your arm."

"This is pointless," I whine as I shuck off my flannel and tie it around my waist.

"Humor me, Cas. It's just a couple pitches. Maybe I should teach ya how to swing, unlock your full potential."

Damp curls lay across my forehead, swaying into my eyes as I roll the ball in my fingers. I toss it into the air, feeling it's weight in my palm while Dean shoves his sticky hand into his mitt. I mimic his process, wiggling my fingers inside the constricted fabric. Dean kneels, hunkering down in the catcher position. He's a little closer than I think he's supposed to be, but I don't object.

"Don't lead the ball!" Garth's voice shouts, "Let the ball guide you!"

Dean snorts at his comment, waving at me again to throw. I meet his amused stare and say, "There isn't any potential."

He shrugs and shakes out his limbs. "Come on, Cas, just throw the damn ball."

Shaking my head to push aside my hair, I pull up my few memories of Garth's pitches. I put my right foot a little farther back, comfortably shifting my weight. My arms meet almost in prayer, a movement I didn't know it had remembered. Dean smirks at me and a storm cloud of pride sweeps through my arms and chest as I pull up my left leg. My torso twists to face Dean, left arm out for balance and right arm unwinding. Ball flies through air like a meteor, smacking into Dean's mitt with a muffled crack.

Dean looks at his hand, then up at me, lips shaping an "O" before he busts into laughter. He stares at me as I roll my shoulder. Benny and Garth race down to us, my camera case on Garth's shoulder.

"No way, Novak. You been holding out on us?" Benny says, shoving my shoulder a little with a chuckle.

"You do have a good arm," Garth admits with an approving smile, gesturing to the pitcher's mound. "But can you get an out?"

Dean shuffles on his feet, still giggling to himself with the ball in his mitt. He snatches up the bat, poking me in the stomach with it. "Come on, Cas. Three more throws? We don't expect nothin' fancy."

Their wide eyes and welcome smiles feed the storm in my chest, and I smile back, nodding. Dean jumps, jogging to home plate like a child wanting to show his mother a toy. The slight ache in my arm and legs, the pull and push of muscle and bones buzzes and I laugh at the open sky.

Benny takes the bat from Dean as he tosses the ball back to me. Garth circles me as I take position on the mound. He points at Benny's aggressive face and Dean's wide eyes and grin.

"That's 60 feet of space, man. That ball is baby Superman's ship, and if Benny hits it, Superman isn't gonna reach earth. Then where would we be?"

I raise an eyebrow at him, rolling my shoulder some more. He offers a shrug in explanation. "Just know your target. And stand comfortably, don't copy what you see on TV, you'll screw up your own arm."

Shuffling, I spread my legs a little wider, left foot closer to home plate. I wiggle my hips, taking a deep breath before I nod at Dean. Benny swings the bat a couple times, the sharp whish of it invisible. Lungs expand, contract. My glasses slide down my nose.

The crack of ball against bat never thunders through the field. Everyone smiles and nods as I reset my position, catching the ball. I nod again, twisting and turning easily. Once again, Benny misses.

"Come on, Castiel. One more. One more Baby Superman."

I roll my eyes, taking off my glasses before they fall off my face. Tucking them in my pocket, I re-assume my stance, grounding myself on the mound. I angle to pitch again when Alastair's laughter fills the air like humidity before a thunderstorm.

My skin gets sticky, back cold. "Why's the faggot playing ball?"

Dean stands, glaring at Alastair as he approaches. "_Castiel _is just showing us his arm. Turns out he played Little League."

Alastair snorts, motioning for Benny to hand him the bat. "Come on, Lafitte. Let me test his arm for myself."

Benny, Garth and Dean look to me and I nod, smirking at Alastair as he steps up to the plate. He snarls back, spitting onto the clay as Dean kneels behind him with a wary expression.

"Come on, Novak. Let's see how you play with balls."

The sneer to his voice turns the idiotic comment into a punch in the gut. The thunderstorm flares up, tornadoes replacing my lungs as I breathe faster. Dean stretches to stand and I settle on my right foot to get his attention. His eyes widen and I wink. In a flash of seconds, the ball has left my hand, spiraling towards it's salvation.

Right into Alastair's crotch.

The larger boy falls to his knees, the bat rolled up against his knee like a pet. He groans, head down as I approach. Dean guffaws, holding his knees in an effort to try and keep oxygen in his body. I stand over Alastair, the sun forming a halo around me as he squints up at my face. "That's how I play, Alastair. Thanks for asking."

Garth and Benny, faces red from laughter, smack my back. Garth hands me my camera case. Our stomachs grumble in a collective war cry for food when we reach the picnic area next to the bus. Other team members converse and joke in small clumps, but start to form an overall circle of comradery. Dean wraps his arm around my shoulders.

"What I tell ya, Cas? Secret superpowers."


	6. Chapter 6

The sun shines directly over the field where the team sprawls out, subs and apples and bottles of water in front of them. Most of the boys sit with their backs to each other, using each other as support to stay sitting up. Benny and Garth mimic this stance, already halfway through their subs as Dean and I sit next to them.

He starts eating his apple first, licking the juice from his lips. I smile at the small group, drinking some water to sooth the dry burn in my throat from laughing. Alastair glares at us from where he sits with Crowley. He shakes his head at Dean as he converses with Benny, then turns his black gaze to me. His lips turn up in a wolfish grin, one that hints of revenge like grey clouds hint at rain.

I bite my lip, looking down at the food in my lap. We eat in a companionable silence, becoming lethargic. Dean sighs, lying on his back once he finishes his sub. Arms under his head, he smiles over the expanse of his chest at me. I smile back at him. I lie down on my stomach beside him, stretching against the scratching grass. Dean mindlessly stares up at the sky, chest rising and falling with each relaxed breath.

Everyone is silent, eyelids drooping when the second bus pulls up. I roll over and lean up on my elbows to watch the other team get off the bus to begin their practice. The mixture of boys dressed in red and gold eye our sprawled bodies. Some of the team had actually fallen asleep, not even stirring as the Warriors marched past us.

Coach Singer stands to say hello to the other Coach. He calls him Rufus with a smile, taking his hand warmly then hugging him lightly. The tall black man scans the field and laughs.

"Did ya wear your boys out, Bobby?"

Coach Singer laughs with them. "It was a long trip yesterday."

"Amen." Rufus pats Coach Singer's shoulder before turning to catch up with his team. He stops once again above me and smiles at the half asleep boy next to me. "Afternoon, Dean."

Dean grins up at the man, rolling over to stand and shake his hand. "Rufus. You ready to lose?"

Rufus shakes his head and laughs. "If you're ready to fight for the title."

"We are."

"Then I'll see you on the field." Rufus pats his shoulder as he did Coach Singer, leaving Dean to watch the Warriors start warming up.

He looks down at me, eyes sparkling with excitement. "It's gonna be a good game."

Coach Singer's whistle sings through the dry air. He stands with his arms crossed, a soft smile shaking each boy into alertness. "Alright, boys, let's head back to the hotel. Y'all need some time to rest before the game tomorrow. Pick up your trash and we'll head out."

The boys stand, grunting and stretching to shake off sleep. I groan, putting my arm over my eyes. Dean laughs, touching my side lightly with the toe of his shoe.

"Come on, Cas. Get up." I look up at him, and he offers a hand. I take it, wobbling a little when I stand as the blood rushes down my body. He holds my elbow with only his fingertips, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I'm fine. Just pins and needles, I stood up too fast."

He nods in understanding, letting go of his light grip when I step away to pick up our collective pile of garbage.

We walk together to the trash can, the other boys brushing themselves off and stepping onto the bus. Dean smiles at our feet, glancing up at me and laughing softly. He reaches up, running his hands through my hair lightly, pulling out a couple leaves.

He shakes them out, running his hands through my hair again to fix it.

"Thank you, Dean," I say quietly, smiling as we get on the bus.

"You're welcome, Cas."

Dean rolls his shoulder, pulling his arm across his chest and behind his back. Muscles flex under his loose shirt, physics personified and suddenly I wish I paid more attention to him in the class we share. His shoulder blades slope from his back, the beginning of what could be wings. The muscles in his arms twist and squirm as he stresses them and relaxes them.

Putting in his ear buds, he dances on his tip toes, smiling at me from where I lie on my bed.

"I'm gonna go burn some energy for a couple minutes. I'll be right back."

"Have fun," I call after him, and his snort fills the room with the pretense of laughter.

Lock clicks into place and silence settles in my chest. My legs and back burn from the hours sitting on the bleachers. Rolling over, I grab my camera and flip through the pictures, admiring my handy work one last time before calling it a day.

I begin to notice a pattern in my photos. Not just angles, lighting or frames, but subjects. Alastair's tense face comes up once, Coach Singer's encouraging speech a couple of colored canvases. But a set of green eyes keep filling my vision, glaring up at me with a mixture of focus, slight frustration and pride. His shoulders are constantly set back, chest as solid as home plate. Bat an extension of his arms. His legs are the roots of a tree as he sways in the breeze of his own swing. There are pictures of just his face, his waist up, or full body profiles. The angles color themselves in as each file fills my laptop screen.

Chewing my lip, I look at the silent doorway. An ache fills my chest and burns in my gut in a way I don't feel like encountering. The battle between want and logic flips my stomach with nausea as I try to ignore the sensitive pain below my pant line. The last thing I needed was for Dean to walk in on me masturbating to a picture of him swinging a baseball bat.

With a slight groan I wobble to the bathroom and unbutton my jeans. The flutter of my hands sparks in my imagination and I bite my lip harder. I kick my pants off, standing in the bathroom shaking as I turned the water on. I had taken a shower this morning, but a cold shower seems absolutely necessary at the moment.

Shucking off my boxers, I step into the freezing cold water, hands clenching into fists at my side. I bring up thoughts of Gabriel dancing around the kitchen in his boxers, eating M&amp;M's and singing "It's Raining Men" the morning after I came out to him. As the cold water does it's quick magic, narrowing my focus to thoughts unrelated to Dean Winchester, I let out a sigh of relief.

Free of any sexual thoughts, I reach past the shower curtain for the towel.

"You've gotta be fucking with me," I grumble to myself, yanking the shower curtain back and realizing my towel was in the bedroom.

I grab a washcloth, drying my feet, hands and hair as well as I can before tip toeing across the tiles to keep from slipping. Quickly, I open the door and rush into the bedroom. The towel sits dry and folded on top of my suitcase as I had left it this morning. Sighing, I snatch it off the top and turn to race back into the bathroom. And run straight into Dean, who had just walked into the door and was putting his jacket in the closet next to the bathroom.

"Shit!" I shout, stumbling back and failing to cover myself with a towel.

He grunts from the impact, stepping back a little but grabbing my arm to keep me from falling.

"Whoa there, tiger," he says with a small smile, then freezes. His eyes widen as he takes in my bare skin. I laugh awkwardly, wrapping the towel around my waist a second too late.

"Um… Hello Dean."

He swallows, staring past my head with his hand still on my shoulder. Fingers tighten around my muscle, and I clear my throat. Shaking his head, he lets go of my arm and steps back.

"Hey… you… um… feel cold. you okay?"

"Yeah… yeah. I just took a cold shower. Quick cool down before working on my assignment ya know."

Dean nods, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes trail up and down my body. I shiver as he mumbles. "Yeah… yeah makes total sense. Well… I'll… um… do you want me to leave?"

"No! No, that's okay. I just forgot my towel. I'll be done shortly."

"Okay, cool…"

He shuffles past me and grabs the remote, sprawling across his bed. I watch him settle into the mattress, trying to read his body language. His shoulders are tense, cheeks slightly flushed. Smiling slightly, I go back into the bathroom and quickly dry off, pulling on my boxers and jeans before going back into the room. He glances up at me, blinking at my bare chest.

"Sorry about running into you earlier," I tell him, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He squirms a little, hands folded over his lap.

"Its okay. Sorry for not paying attention to the fact you weren't in the room."

I examine a black v-neck, wondering about what I want to wear at the game tomorrow and the bus ride home. He keeps his gaze focused on the TV, glancing at me every few seconds. I keep standing shirtless in front of him. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn.

As the yawn ends, I naturally moan quietly, a sound that catches Dean's immediate attention. He stares wide-eyed at me, cheeks flushing again as he looks away. I pull on my shirt, smiling to myself.

I turn the to his slouched form, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Do you want to get out of here? It's cramped in this damn hotel room."

Dean's eyes light up as he smiles in surprise and relief. "Sounds awesome, let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean stands, checking his pockets for his phone and the room key. He smiles at me as I grab my camera, wallet and phone.

"Do you wanna walk along the golf course?" Dean asks as he opens the door. "There isn't much else to do seeing that we can't technically leave the hotel grounds."

I nod, scratching the back of my neck. "Good plan."

He leads the way down the hall, silence settling between us once again. I can feel his eyes on me as we step out of the elevator and into the lobby simultaneously. His arms brushes against mine, hands so close that I could stroke his palm with my thumb. Temptation rushes warm through my chest and I watch our feet.

He elbows me, smiling playfully. "What are you thinking about in that nerd brain of yours?"

Laughter fills my chest, and I answer, "Nothing really…" I shrug to try and hide my self-conscious mumble.

As he examines my face, we step onto the wide expanse of green past the hotel and the pool. Trees, sand pits, and a retention pond fills our vision. Looking around, I let the afternoon sun blind me for a second. I pull out my camera as the sun blinks behind my eyelids.

We continue walking as I capture light twinkling along the lake. Dean laughs lightly to himself and I can imagine him shaking his head. I find myself smiling behind the camera, turning on my heel to walk backwards and capture his smile. I shouldn't have trashed the picture I took of him on the bus. Everyone deserves to see someone like him look happy. It's like picture of a golden retriever puppy playing, you can't help but smile.

He puts his hand in front of his face like I knew he would, and I spar with him, camera still up by my face so I can get as many pictures as possible.

"Cas, cut it out!" he shouts with one hard shove to my shoulder.

"Come on, Dean. Just one picture. Please?" He rolls his eyes, ready to retort when suddenly the ground disappears.

I drop the camera, letting it bang against my chest as I try to catch my fall. Flailing, I'm able to land up right. However, the slope of the sand pit shifts under my weight, twisting my ankle and I fall sideways onto my knee. A bark of pain escapes my throat, and I roll inward, letting my body slide down as I grab at my leg.

I try to inspect my camera without stretching my legs, hands shaky. The lens is intact, screen crack free. Sand cover the buttons but that's an easy fix. "Thank God…" I whisper to myself.

"Goddamnit, Cas! Are you okay?" Dean calls as he slides down the slope. I look up at him and offer a weak smile.

"Can I have that picture now?"

He snorts and rolls his eyes again, kneeling next to me. "No, you clumsy dumbass. Where's it hurt?"

I stretch out my leg, attempting to roll over onto my back without hurting myself. The throbbing comes from the foot underneath me, and I hiss when I have to put some pressure on it when I shift my weight. Dean's hands flutter about, useless until I give him a sense of direction.

"My right leg. I landed on my ankle and then hit my knee."

He nods, green eyes cloudy with concern and thought. Warm fingers press into the muscle just above my ankle bone. When I hiss, he pulls back. "Okay. Okay. Yeah. Let's try and get you up and back to the hotel. Ice will be the best thing for it. Luckily, it's not broken."

"Luckily," I mumble, grabbing his bicep to lift myself up. Maneuvering my uninjured leg, I put all my weight on it. My grip on Dean's arm tightens as I put weight my right leg. I howl in pain, rocking backwards. Dean grabs my hips to steady me, holding onto my elbow as he stands up. His arm wraps around my waist and I blush despite the pain.

"You can't walk on it?" he asks, examining my hunched posture and the sweat forming on my forehead.

"I can try," I answer breathlessly as I shuffle forward. Biting my lip doesn't keep my groan hidden from him and he sighs, squeezing my hip.

"I'm sorry, buddy. We'll get you outta here…" He scans the sand pit, looking for the easiest way out. Nodding his head to my left he says, "That's the easiest slope to climb. Come on."

"How?" I jump on my own good foot, losing my footing once again. He steadies me, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a second before letting go of my waist.

He squats slightly in front of me, arms reaching back to barely touch my thighs. Looking over his shoulder, he smiles and winks at me. "Hop on."

The thought of me riding Dean Winchester's back morphs into something a little dirtier. Face bright red, I lean up against him and he grips the back of my thighs to lift me off the ground. I wrap my arms lightly around his neck as he settles my weight around his waist. Laughing, he jumps a little to jostle me.

"Okay, you set?"

I press my face into the back of his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his clothes. Leather, sweat, and sunshine. I sigh, "Yeah."

"We have lift off!" he shouts, marching up the side of the sand pit and onto the grass. I giggle into his shirt, shaking my head.

I'm about to say something so he can put me down and just try to hop the rest of the way, but he just picks up the pace. Each foot step is sure and wide, barely jostling me. His breathing stays regular, his pulse heavy and steady under my arms around his neck. The hotel grows out of the ground, the pool a blue blemish in the wide expanse of grass around us.

"Good thing we didn't get too far before you're little mishap, your clumsiness."

"Wouldn't have happened if you just let me take your picture."

"No it wouldn't have happened if you actually paid attention to where you were walking and not my beautiful face."

The smirk is evident in his voice, and I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh. It would only encourage him. People in the pool area could see us now, and a few stare with a peculiar expression. Others just ignore us as I open the gate for Dean. At this point, I expect him to put me down to avoid questions.

Instead, he carries me past the pool and into the lobby. I pull open the door enough for him to kick it open with his foot, and we step into the cool air. People really stare now as he strides across the marble floor, nodding and smiling at the employees in acknowledgment. No one asks why Dean is carrying me, and no one says that he isn't allowed to carry me. I hide my face in his shoulder again, which probably looks worse.

"What the hell, Ken doll?" a familiar voice asks.

"It's Dean, and do you ever leave?"

"I work whenever I can. Money is money." I look up to smile at a surprised Balthazar.

"Good afternoon, Balthazar."

He returns my smile, his hair gelled back instead of spiked up. "Good afternoon, Castiel. And pray tell, why is Ken Doll carrying you around?"

Dean growls, a rumble I can feel in my chest as I smile. Balthazar hums, stroking his chin as he examines us once again.

Dean pushes past Balthazar to set me in the closest booth. He rolls his shoulders before kneeling in front of me and rolling up my pant leg. Balthazar comes up behind me, petting my hair absent mindedly, "So were you too rolling around in the bushes…?"

"I fell into a sand pit on the golf course," I answer quickly, blushing.

His hands land on my shoulders, squeezing as he lowers his voice in a mock whisper. "Did Ken Doll push you?"

"Ice?" Dean snaps, his glare cold enough to freeze Hell. Balthazar raises his hands in surrender, backing away to get some ice.

"That guy really rubs me the wrong way," he mumbles when Balthazar is gone.

Raising an eyebrow, I rest against the table on my elbow. "Why's that?"

"I don't know. He's just creepy and flirty."

"Flirty?"

Dean looks up at me, hands still around my ankle. He shifts when he looks down again. "He seems exsessive…"

Chewing on my bottom lip, I stare at the top of his head. I giggle to myself, hiding a smile behind my hand. Balthazar comes back from the kitchen. He winks as he stops behind Dean. He hands the ice wrapped in a dish rag to Dean, who nods in a short moment of appreciation before turning away.

My body tenses when Dean presses it against the muscle. He hisses with sympathy pain, wincing when I do. "I'm sorry, buddy. Hopefully we can get this to go down before the game tomorrow."

"Shit…" I say under my breath, trying to think of how I'll get around the bleachers.

Dean pats my cheek lightly to get my attention. "Hey don't stress. You'll be fine for tomorrow. We just gotta take it easy tonight."

Balthazar wiggles his eyebrows at me, mouthing what Dean said with extra emphasis. I scowl at him, eyes sharp and mouth a tight line. He giggles quietly to himself, sauntering away to go take care of his other customers. I look down at Dean, surprised to see him staring at my face.

"We should tell Bobby- Coach, sorry. He would know of anything else that'll help."

I nod, biting my bottom lip as he stands up and sits across from me. We sigh in unison as the noise of the restaurant fills in our silence. His eyes examine my worried ones and he reaches over to touch my chin with his thumb. "You really shouldn't chew on your lips like that. It's why they're chapped all the time."

I gasp, eyes wide when he strokes my bottom lip lightly. Warmth explodes in my chest, my heart picking up pace. As if he'd been shocked, he pulls his hand back quickly. He clenches it into a fist, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. Clearing his throat, he looks over as a waitress comes over to ask if we want anything.

My stare was probably hot enough to burn a hole in the side of his head as he speaks. I can't hear her voice over the pounding of my heart in my ears. He looks at me, eyebrows furrowed as he says my name.

"Hmm what?" I ask, shaking my head.

"Do you want anything to drink?" he says, looking down at the table now. I turn to the waitress, smiling a little.

"Dr. Pepper would be wonderful, thanks."

She looks between us and nods with a smirk. "I'll be right back with that."

Dean clears his throat when she leaves, rubbing his nose quickly before looking me in the eyes again. "You hungry? We can eat something before we go talk to Coach."

It's 4:48, late enough for dinner. "We only have a couple hours till dinner, we could just wait."

The corner of his lips turn up as he watches me talk, and I swallow self-consciously.

"True," he says, "But do you really wanna come all the way down here again? You should stay off that ankle for the rest of the night. Besides, are you really looking forward to eating dinner with Alastair after your little stunt at practice?"

I smile, "You know, that mushroom swiss burger was out of this world."

He laughs, chest falling back and eyes squinting shut. "I thought so. He can be a grumpy bastard when he wants to be."

Alastair's glinting smile and tan knuckles fill my mind. I cringe slightly, trying to erase those thoughts from my head. "Yeah… that's an understatement."

Dean grunts in agreement as the waitress shows up with our drinks and takes our orders. He stirs the ice around in his cup, eyebrows furrowed as if he's trying to forget as well. He looks up, smiling again. "What kinda TV shows do you watch? Or movies?"

I stammer for a second, surprised at the sudden change in subject matter. "I'm open to watching anything really, why?"

Shrugging, he takes a sip of his soda. "I brought my laptop, I thought you might wanna watch something on Netflix to pass the time."

An image of Dean and I lying on one of our beds watching movies all night fills my mind and I smile slightly. "That sounds nice. I watch a lot of stuff on Netflix."

His eyes light up and he smiles. "Yeah? What do you watch?"

I laugh a little to myself. "Don't laugh, but I've been on a Disney kick. I've been watching all the old movies. But generally I watch the Walking Dead and a couple other shows."

He giggles, "Hey man, I don't judge. Disney has some kickass movies. But I would have never pegged you as a Dead fan."

I place my ankle up on the seat next to Dean, leg stretched out underneath the table. "Have you seen the show?"

Dean rolls his eyes, stretching in his seat. His shirt rides up, exposing a bit of his stomach and I have to stare at the table. "Well, yeah. I love that show."

"Okay, so its self-explanatory."

Dean laughs for a couple seconds, shaking his head. "Yeah that's true. What season you on?"

"I just started 4."

His eyes widen as he leans forward and makes a baffled noise. "You haven't finished 4 yet?!"

"No?" I lean away from his crazed expression, trying to hold back laughter when the waitress comes back with our food. Dean slumps back in his seat, shaking his head.

"We're having a marathon tonight. We'll buy some popcorn and cokes from the snack room or whatever it's called and watch all the episodes."

I cut my burger in half, shaking some salt onto my fries as I watch him out of the corner of my eye. "Dean don't you think that's a bit much?"

"What do you mean? You can't go wrong with that show."

Laughing a little I say, "Dean, you have a big game tomorrow. We need to go to bed at a reasonable time. I don't want you to fall asleep on home plate."

He slumps, as if my words deflated him, bottom lip sticking slightly out in the beginning of a pout. I try to hide my affectionate smile by taking a bite of my burger.

"Yeah I suppose you're right, Cas." He picks up a couple fries and dips them in ketchup but doesn't eat them.

"We can watch a couple episodes tonight, then… well maybe we can hang out sometime when we get back and watch the rest before season 5 comes out." I hold my breath, hoping I wasn't overstepping my boundaries. We have had some fun the past couple days, but that doesn't mean he's my new best friend. As much as I wish that's the case.

His smile makes my heart skip a beat, and I take a deep breath. "That would be cool. We should do that."

"Yeah?" I ask somewhat breathlessly.

He nods, still smiling as he begins to devour his fries. "Yeah."

"Awesome…" I say to myself, taking another bite of my burger.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean looks up at me as I finish my burger, wiping his hands clean on a napkin. We sit in silence, waiting for the check in the hazy aftermath of our meal. I can hardly keep my eyes open when the waitress finally comes with the black book. I reach into my back pocket for my wallet to pay for my share, but when I look up she's already gone. I gape at him.

"I have my wallet Dean."

"So?"

"Why didn't you let me pay for my share?"

His shrug infuriates me while also making me swoon. "Chivalry?"

"I… ok…" I stutter, taking out a ten to hand to him. He shakes his head.

"The point of chivalry is that you don't pay me back."

The waitress comes back with his change, and he tosses a ten onto the table as our tip before standing. His smile soothes my surprise, but I can't seem to stop the irregular beating of my heart when he holds out his hand to help me up.

"Yeah that is sorta the point isn't it…" I finally say, taking his hand and unsteadily standing on my left foot.

"Do you think you can make it to Coach's room? Or shall I carry you again?" He smirks, his eyes playful. Not the awkward glint I expected, just mocking.

"Ha, ha, Winchester. I can walk. You're the one who insisted on carrying me all the way here."

He shrugs, eyes still bright. "It was faster."

As I roll my eyes, he uses his free arm to gesture to the door. I limp beside him, putting as little pressure on my right foot as possible. Dean's hand hovers over my elbow, a tingling presence I can't seem to ignore. I slowly make it out of the restaurant and down the hall, wincing when we finally step into the elevator and I put my foot down for a second. Afraid of falling over, I grab Dean's hand, squeezing it to keep balancing. He watches me out of the corner of his eye, saying nothing about my tight grip. He just squeezes back.

"Ya know, this is probably karma for hitting Alastair in the balls earlier."

Dean's chuckle fills the elevator and I end up holding my stomach with him as the doors slide open. "Man… It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard…"

I smile at him, still holding his hand as I hobble out of the elevator. We both giggle lightly when Alastair, Benny, Garth and Crowley turn the corner at the end of the hallway. Alastair smirks when he sees our intertwined hands and I let go of Dean like I had touched iron, leaning against the wall instead.

Benny furrows his eyebrows and Garth raises an eyebrow, coming up to us. Alastair and Crowley walk past us, whispering and snickering. Dean stares at the floor, then looks at me. He puts his arm under mine, holding me up by my back.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Garth asks, assessing how I hold up my right foot.

"Cas fell and sprained his ankle. We're on our way to see Coach." Dean says, voice flat.

Benny nods, scratching the top of his head. "We were heading down to eat but we can come with ya'll."

Dean shakes his head and offers them a thankful smile. "We already ate, go ahead. We got this, don't we Cas?"

I look at him, then at Benny and Garth. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Go enjoy your dinner."

They exchange a look before agreeing. Garth pats my shoulder, "Hope you feel better, Castiel."

"I'll try my hardest." I say as they leave. They begin having their own conversation and I can feel Dean's breathing even out. I hadn't even noticed how irregular it was until they were gone.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have grabbed your hand… Now Alastair-"

Dean shakes his head. "Alastair can kiss my ass. I'm fine. I just didn't want him to give you anymore shit."

"Oh… yeah… Well thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. Let's go see Bobby."

Each step down the hall makes me wince as I try to get the hang of moving with Dean. He tries to shorten his strides to match mine, but I can sense his impatience. I try to put more weight on his side, ignoring the discomfort in my shoulder so we can move faster. He holds me up while I hobble down the hall, eyebrows furrowed at my discomfort. He lets go of my shoulder, choosing to take my hand again. "Better?"

I sigh, lifting my foot up and leaning my weight into his hand. "Much, thank you."

With more mobility, I pick up the pace and within 5 minutes we're in front of Coach Singer's room. Dean knocks, tapping his foot and humming to himself for a couple seconds. My lips twitch into a ghost of a smile just as Coach opens the door. He examines our intertwined hands, raising an eyebrow.

"You have my blessing?" Mockery makes his gruff voice light and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Funny, Bobby. Can we come in?"

Coach's eyes are bright with amusement as he holds the door open for us, watching as I limp into the room and sit in the desk chair. "Care to explain, Winchester?"

"We were walking around the golf course and Cas fell into one of the sand pits. He landed on his ankle. It's not broken."

Coach grunts, looking at me for confirmation, as if Dean might have pushed me into the sandpit. I nod in agreement with Dean and Coach sighs.

He sits on the bed and motions for Dean to push my chair closer to him. "Let me take a look."

He carefully lifts up my leg and places it on his lap. He rolls up my jeans and lightly touches my ankle. "Yeah you sprained it alright. You're lucky you didn't roll it or break it. Take some Advil, keep ice on it and I'll give ya an ace bandage to wear tomorrow."

Dean takes a deep breath. "So he'll be okay for tomorrow?"

Coach looks up at Dean and then at me. "It's gonna hurt and you should avoid walking around too much. I'd pick a couple places to sit during the game and just stay in those places for a while before moving again."

Dean sighs, looking at me with concern. "Can you do that?"

"I'll be fine, Dean. I'm perfectly capable of taking pictures sitting down."

"Good… good," he mumbles.

Coach smiles, gently placing my leg down and unrolling my jeans. "I'll grab you some Advil. Are you boys heading down for dinner?" He stands and opens one of his suitcases, pulling out a pill bottle and an ace bandage.

"No sir," I say, moving my foot a little to test it out. "We ate already."

"Okay, so stay off that ankle as much as possible. Dean'll show you how to wrap it correctly tomorrow. You boys need help getting to your room?"

Dean shakes his head, taking the bottle and bandage from Coach. "No, I can handle it. Thanks, Bobby."

Coach nods, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "No problem, son. Go get some rest, both of ya."

"Yes sir," we say as Dean helps me stand on my feet. Coach says goodnight before closing the door behind us. We make our way to our room, where Dean opens the door. He sets me on my bed, moving a pillow to the end of the bed for me to elevate my ankle.

"Thank you, Dean."

He smiles, taking the bandage and pills out of his back pockets. "No problem. I'll go get some ice, popcorn and soda. Just sit tight till I get back."

I nod, reaching in my pocket to grab my phone. I scroll through my messages. After sending Chuck a quick text about my ankle, I move on to Charlie's name. I click the call button, prepared for the girlish screeches I'm about to hear.

"Hello?" she asks after the first ring.

"Hey Charlie," I say with a smile.

"Oh my god, Castiel! How are you! Are you having fun?"

I move the phone away from my ear while she shouts, laughing to myself. "I'm fine… well… sorta. I fell into a sand pit and sprained my ankle."

"Oh wow, are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing really, Dean helped me back to the hotel and we talked to Coach Singer. But that's not the best part-"

"WHOA wait!" she shouts, and I move the phone away again. "Dean Winchester? He helped you? How? What happened?"

"He carried me back to the hotel, it was no big deal."

"No no no no no, Castiel. This is a huge deal. I know you guys had a falling out."

"Yeah… well he seems… different now…"

"Different?"

"He keeps talking to me and hanging out with me. He bought me dinner today. Balthazar thinks we make heart eyes at each other."

"Cas, slow down. Whose Balthazar?"

I shift a little on the bed, quickly explaining who Balthazar is and how odd Dean has been since our odd confrontation. I tell her about hitting Alastair and hoping for a home run with Dean. Wondering if he actual cares about me or not. I tell her about our future plans to watch the Walking Dead together.

"Cas! He's totally crushing on you! This is like… true love or something! Oh my god! You have a crush on Dean Winchester. You sly dog. And you said you hated jocks. Liar!"

"Okay, Mothership. Cool your jets. So I have a little crush on-" My words fall short as Dean opens the door. "Hey, I'll call you back later. Dean just got back."

"Ohhhhh okay. Have fun Castiel," she giggles before hanging up.

"Who was that?" Dean asks, placing the drinks and ice on the night stand between our beds.

"Charlie. She wanted to know how the assignment's going."

"Uh huh… Well I hope it goes over fine," he says, smiling at me over his shoulder as he opens the popcorn in front of the microwave.

"Yeah… It'll be fine. I took some pictures today that could work, worst comes to worst."

"That's good," he says, turning on the microwave before going to get a rag from the bathroom. He puts some ice cubes in the center before knotting it and putting it on my ankle. Then he hands me a can of Coke and two Advil. The sound of popping fills our silence as he watches me take the pills. Smiling at him, I put the drink down and settle against my pillows.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," he says with a smile on his way back to the microwave. He opens the bag, handing it to me before grabbing his laptop and settling on the bed next to me. Our thighs touch as he brings up Netflix, the curtains making our room dark as a movie theatre.

"Comfy?" he asks, opening the first episode of season 4.

"Very," I respond, sighing contentedly next to him.


	9. Chapter 9

I stretch awake, yawning against the pillow under me. My arms tighten around it as I nuzzle the warmth. A content hum vibrates against my ear and I open one eye to find Dean's comatose face inches from mine. My breath hitches for a second. Inhaling deeply to calm down, I can't help but smile. I couldn't remember when I fell asleep, just that Dean asked if I wanted a lamp on.

I move a little to sit up when Dean mumbles and wraps his arm tight around my waist. I giggle silently. No sunlight filters through the curtains, leaving everything in pre-dawn shadow. Straining my neck, I catch a glance of the red letters of the clock. 6:12. I woke up earlier than usual.

Settling again against Dean's chest, I stroke Dean's side with my thumb. With a content sigh, I revel in the feeling of safety and warmth. This is what it's like to belong to someone, to feel home. Instead of silent fathers and hyper-active brothers, home feels like an 18-year-old baseball player. It no longer smells of candy, coffee, and papers, it smells of leather, car oil, grass, and whiskey. It's rough and sun-tanned. My heart skips a beat. Home can't be Dean. I just fell asleep and he was too nice to move me.

Dean mumbles under his breath, moving slightly in his sleep. I smile against his chest, humming. He sleeps peacefully for a short while, then moans in his sleep.

"Dean?" I ask, looking up at his face. His eyes are tightened, mouth slightly open. He doesn't answer, turning his face away and moaning lightly again. His waist moves under me, hips rolling slightly up to press his crotch into my stomach.

"Oh…" I whisper, biting my lip when he moves again. "Dean? Hey…" I pinch his side, lightly shaking him.

Dean shakes his head again, eyes squinting open. Jerking out from under me, he pushes himself to the other side of the bed. "Jesus christ…"

I offer a smile as he slows his breaths and looks down at his pants. "Good morning."

His eyes darken and he rubs a hand down his face. He mumbles an apology as he hops up and rushes into the bathroom. Frowning, I limp to the bathroom door, noticing how little my leg hurts. I knock on the door, calling his name.

"What, Cas?" he barks, the water turning on in the shower.

"Are you okay?" I ask, resting my forehead against the wood. I can barely hear his nervous chuckle.

"I have a boner, I'm not dying. Thanks for your concern."

Biting my lip, I turn away from the bathroom. His voice sounded hollow, joking to hide another emotion. I crawl back into bed, running my hands down my face and rubbing my eyes. Dean doesn't sing like he did yesterday. The hotel room feels empty. The sheets are cool when I press my face into them, inhaling the smell of Dean on the fabric. Shaking my head, I sit up again and try to banish any thoughts of Dean from my mind.

Those few silent minutes go on forever, and I let out a breath of relief when Dean walks out of the bathroom. My eyes get stuck on his bare chest, watching the muscles move when he sorts through his suitcase, his other hand tightly grasping the towel around his waist. I swallow and meet his eyes. His cheeks go pink and he clears his throat before going into the bathroom again. The warmth of this morning fades away, and my chest feels like it throbs with cold. I stare at my hands until he comes out again, looking up and biting my lip again.

He rubs the back of his neck, refusing to look at me as shuffles to the opposite side of the room.

"I'm um… I'm sorry about this morning…"

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest when he rubs his neck again. "I just fell asleep last night before I could go to my own bed, ya know? I don't normally…"

He stops, swallowing and laughing a little. I can't think of anything to say, just wish he would stop talking. "I guess all I'm trying to say is that it means nothing. I don't want you to get any ideas. I'm not…"

I glare at him. "What? You're not gay?"

Glancing up at me, he says nothing, clenching his hands. I scoff, leaning against the headboard.

"I don't care if you are, Cas, I just want you to know that I'm not," he says, taking a step toward the bed with his hands out to me.

I laugh, each sound squeezing my lungs until it feels like I can't breathe. "Winchester, if you really didn't care about my sexuality, you would stop pointing it out."

His eyes widen when I use his last name, the green rippling with what almost seems like sadness. I close my eyes, laughing again to myself. "I'm not trying to point it out, I just don't want you to think that's what I want."

"Well, you've made your point," I say, scoffing again and shaking my head. I search the sheets for my glasses, finding them under the pillow Dean slept on last night. I hiss when I shift my weight using my legs.

"How's your ankle?" he murmurs, his footsteps approaching the bed and barely brushing my pants leg before I pull away.

"A lot better, thank you," I snap. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to wash off your heterosexuality before I start saying 'no homo'."

My ankle throbs as I settle on my feet, opening my suitcase to grab some clothes. His eyes follow me as I limp to the door. When I grab the wall for support, he steps forward. "Are you sure you'll be able to stand?"

I glare over my shoulder, then immediately look away from the concern in his eyes. "I'll make it quick. I'll need help with the ace bandage after I get dressed though."

He mumbles in agreement, picking up our trash from last night as I go into the bathroom. I stare at the mirror, try to get rid of the hurt in my expression. I have a job to do today. Naomi didn't send me here to flirt with Dean. She sent me to get photos of the team.

I turn away from the mirror, turning on the water and quickly stripping to get into the hot water. The heat soothes the tension in my shoulder as I scrub my scalp. Steam masks the scent of anything but my body wash. I sigh in relief as I get out, dry off, and put on my glasses. I lean against the counter to put on my boxers and shorts, then slip on a blue shirt. When I shuffle back into the room, Dean stands from his bed and grabs the ace bandage.

He waits until I sit on my bed before kneeling in front of me. I look past his head as his fingers press lightly into my ankle, wrapping the bandage. Once he's secured the clip, he pats my knee and stands. The tingle of my skin in that one place is hard to ignore as he says, "That should help."

He holds out a hand to help me up, and I stand wobbly. The pain is still there, but the stiffness of the bandage keeps me from over exerting it. I drop his hand and reach for my case and phone. Running my hand through my hair as I make for the door, I leave Dean behind. He shouts to wait, but I turn the corners faster than I should. Once he's behind me, I swallow and breathe again.

No one else occupies the hallway as I slow my pace, scowling at the triangles on the carpet. Dean's insistence that he's not gay runs around my mind, shaking awake memories of the past couple days and a couple years ago. Dean had only been odd about my behavior when Alastair got involved. The Angels is a team, a family of boys who had been playing together for years. They spoke to each other on the field without saying a word. Alastair could ruin that for Dean, could tear the team in half if he thought Dean was gay.

Yet, his constant protection and concern, his friendly attitude and indifference towards my sexuality draw me to him. The way his eyes light up when we speak, or how he laughs with his whole body makes my skin warm. He's genuine.

A squeal and flash of red hair frighten me out of my thought process. Charlie slams against my chest, wrapping her arms around me as I stumble back and yelp. "Castiel! How are you? How's your ankle? Oh, shit, your ankle. I'm sorry."

She steps back with a giant smile on her face, holding my hands. She wears her own Angels t-shirt with white capris and a Star Trek ball cap. "Mothership, why are you here so early?"

She shrugs, still grinning. "I wanted to beat the crowd. I was hoping I could eat breakfast with you."

I laugh, shaking my head at her excitement. Voices start to fill in the background as I kiss her forehead and hug her again. "Thanks for coming to see me, Mothership."

"Novak? Who's your lady friend?" Garth asks, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. Benny stands next to him, Dean hovering a couple feet away from him, refusing to look at me.

I stare at him for a second, before turning my attention to Garth. "This is Charlie. Charlie, Garth, Benny and Dean."

Charlie holds up her hand in the Vulcan Salute, saying "Sup baseball bitches."

Even Dean snorts, causing me to look at his hunched form. Benny says something I don't catch as I mentally beg Dean to look at me. I should apologize. I shake my head, banishing the thought from my mind.

"I hate to say goodbye, boys, but I want Castiel to myself this morning. We'll see you later," she says, taking my hand and leading me to the elevator at a fast pace.

When we enter the elevator she smashes the "close doors" button over and over until they finally hide us from the other three. Free from their observation, she turns to me and grabs my shirt. "What in the hell was that?"

I stare at her, eyes wide in shock. "What was what?"

"Dean!" she shouts, letting go of my shirt with a scoff. "I swear Castiel, you are your own cockblock."

I continue to stare at her, flailing my hands for a second. "What do you mean?"

"He didn't even look at you. What happened?"

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "I got mad at him this morning and stormed out of our room as soon as he finished putting on my ace bandage."

"Why, might I ask?"

She strides out of the elevator, grabbing hold of my arm once again and leading us to a small table in the back of the restaurant. She scrapes the chair closer to the table, leaning across the space to be closer to me. Her eyes gleam with stubborn insistence. I crash into my seat, putting my head in my hands.

"I don't know what happened… Last night we watched the Walking Dead, and I guess I fell asleep on him."

"On him?" she asks as a waitress steps up to our table. My hope Balthazar and his perky sass would be there to cheer me up deflated as she asks us for our drink orders.

"Coffee please," I say to her before turning back to Charlie "Yes, I fell asleep on his chest."

"No shit!" she says, telling the waitress to get her a chocolate milk.

I roll my eyes, rubbing my temples. "Yes. And this morning… well he fell asleep in my bed, and this morning I woke up to a pleasant surprise."

She giggles, whispering, "Morning wood. So glad I'm a lesbian" like its some kind of inside joke.

I shake my head with a smile. "So I guess the problem is that he was sorta rubbing himself against me in his sleep."

"Winchester dream dry humped you!" she squeals, throwing her hands into the air.

I raise an eyebrow at her, sneering. "Um… Yes? I woke him up after a second, and he freaked out. Then he rambled out this apology that basically ended with him saying he just doesn't want me to get any ideas."

She gasps as the waitress comes back with our drinks. "That _bitch_."

The waitress raises her eyebrow at Charlie, looking at me with a confused look. "Sorry, she's not very quiet. I'll have eggs, scrambled, with hash browns and crispy bacon."

Charlie slams her hand on the table, causing both the waitress and I to jump.

"_Charlie!_" I hiss, pointing at the waitress. But she ignores me, staring at the frightened woman instead.

"Let me explain. A guy he likes pulled the 'don't get any ideas' card because _he _grinded on him while sleeping."

The waitress looks between us. I bite my lip as the woman stares us down. She turns to Charlie and says, "I agree with you. He is a little bitch."

Charlie laughs, winking at her before ordering the same thing as me. She watches the waitress walk away, shaking her head and humming. "That woman looks like a fairy."

"If you say so, Mothership," I say, taking a small sip of my coffee.

"I do say so. I also say, woman up Novak."

I get startled enough to spill some coffee on my hand. "You want me to cross dress?"

Snorting, she shakes her head. "No, Castiel. Don't be so literal. I'm saying get your shit together and go for what you want. Or tell a bitch off. Make a decision and stick to it."

"Well, I think I already told a bitch off…" I admit, rubbing the back of my neck.

There's a break in the conversation as Charlie drinks her chocolate milk. I take the opportunity to put some sugar and cream in my cup, stirring the sweetness in for a change. She looks expectantly at me.

"Well…are you going to tell me or not? You don't just drop something like that and not explain?"

I nod, holding my mug and trying to think of exactly what I had said. "I snapped and said I was going to wash off his heterosexuality before I start to say 'no homo'"

Charlie chokes on her milk for a second. "Castiel… you said that? You didn't think it?"

"Yes, I said it."

She slumps back and giggles slightly to herself. "I bet that shut him up."

"Charlie, this is all pointless. He doesn't like me and I have a job to do."

Her frown borders between actual sadness and a pout as our food arrives. I start eating my eggs, ignoring her gaze. She does the same not too long after, and we eat in silence for a little while.

"Are you going to the after party? It turns out, Garth actually lives 10, maybe 15 minutes from here. He makes that long ass trip to school every morning."

I glance up, pouring some salt over my hash browns. The steam smells like grease, the potatoes falling apart in my mouth. I take another forkful, shaking my head.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, pushing her eggs around on her plate. "You're such a nerd, Castiel."

"A nerd I need," a gruff voice says behind me. Coach Singer pats my back, nodding at me when I turn to look up at him. "We gotta run soon, Novak. How's that ankle?"

"Much better sir, thank you."

He smiles, his moustache and beard hiding it. "I'd glad to hear it. See you in the locker room."

The older man walks away, going to a cluster of tables where most of his team shoves eggs and bacon into their mouths. I smile when he starts talking to him, his excitement a clear shine in his eyes. I watch the players' listen to their coach's instructions intently, amazed at their loyalty. My gaze travels between each player, until my eyes lock on Dean's. He stares wide eyed at me for a second before quickly fixing his eyes on the meal in front of him. I sigh, turning my attention back to Charlie.

"I'm gonna go to the restroom before getting on the bus with those lunatics. It's gonna be a long day."

I stand, tossing the money for my meal and a tip onto the table next to my almost empty plate. Picking up my camera case, I kiss Charlie's forehead. "I'll see you later, Mothership."

"Catch ya later," she replies as I leave the table and head for the bathroom.

The voices behind me become a blur of commotion, and I try to clear my head of anything Dean related. He's a subject. Another player on a good-sized team. He isn't special. He hits a small ball with a metal baseball bat. I'll take my pictures, complete my assignment, then move on to the next one. I'm the Photo Editor of the school newspaper, I have responsibilities. Expectations to live up to.

As I stand in front of the sinks and wash my hands, a warm body looms behind me. I glance up in the mirror and meet Alastair's eyes, then Crowley's behind him. Turning off the water, I shake my hands a little to get some water off and grab some paper towels. After tossing them away, I smile at them.

"Excuse me," I say, side stepping to get past their wide shoulders.

Alastair grabs my arm and Crowley steps closer, blocking my way out of the bathroom. "You aren't excused, faggot."

Sighing, I roll my eyes and try to ignore the pounding of my heart. "Let me go, Alastair. This is ridiculous."

He grins, leaning in close to my face. "Payback is a bitch, Novak. Remember that."

"I've committed it to memory, now let me go," I say, my voice still even despite my heart rate. Just as Alastair lets go of my arm, the door swings open and Dean walks in, then stops.

"Something wrong here?" he asks, looking at Alastair and Crowley, then me. "Cas?"

I push past all three players and yank open the door. "Everything is fine, Winchester."

Alastair's snickering echoes in my mind as I race away. I focus on breathing deep, watching the tile instead of the people around me. Dean's dirty converses match the pace of my own blue ones, and he elbows me to get me to look up. He smiles and I glare at him, his eyes dark with hurt when I don't smile back.

"Are you okay?"

When I look away and don't respond, he sighs. He wrings his hands, holding his breath before trying to get me to look at his face again. "Look, Cas, I'm sorry, but-"

"Stop, just stop. I'm fine. Okay? Go bother someone else with your sexual insecurities."

Dean stops talking, stops walking beside me.

The sun glares against the sidewalk as I step out the glass doors and into the parking lot. Coach stands by the bus, a focused look in his eyes despite his amicable smile. He tips his cap as I step onto the bus. I claim the available seat next to Garth just as Dean and Benny shuffle down the center aisle with their bags. Dean ignores me, talking only to Benny and Garth about the game as the other players get on the bus. Alastair makes it his job to smack me in the head with his bag as he passes.

Curling my knees in, I place them on the seat in front of me. Head leaning back, I let the morning heat settle over my skin. Everything feels too tight, like my bones are going to stretch out of my body. I'm not big enough for myself. I close my eyes, letting the sun bleach everything to red behind my eyelids. I let it all go, try to empty my mind of the past few days.

Coach Singer steps on the bus, and the boys cheer. The tires tremble with their pride, the windows chattering with their stomps. He lets them shout, lets them try to fill the sky. Goosebumps raise on my arms as these boys become one unit. No one is struggling with their grades, no one is afraid of college rejection letters, no one is stressed, no one has failed. Everyone is alive. I smile, eyes still closed as the bus engine turns over, then starts. The Warriors are in for the game of their lives.


	10. Chapter 10

The locker room smells of grass, sweat, and rusted metal. The team drops their bags, leaving the small lockers closed. Coach Singer stands next to me, arms crossed over his chest. He looks over the team as they pull out their uniforms and shout encouragement at each other.

"Alright boys!" His voice fills the locker room easily, calling the boys attention. I take some pictures of their open expressions, then step back to capture Coach's stance. "We've worked hard to get here. We've practiced and practiced. You boys have really come together to become a kick ass baseball team."

The boys whoop, banging their fists on the lockers. I smile as Coach continues. "So, Angels? Ready to give 'em hell?"

Their shouts echo against the walls, and I laugh. Coach pats me on the back before heading back out for a second.

I stand on the edge of the locker room and swallow. I trace over the buttons on my camera nervously, averting my eyes while the boys change. No one pays attention to my awkwardness for the most part, more focused on discussing tactics and statistics about the opposing team. Uriel walks about, interviewing the players for the article. He nods at me when he passes me, his IPhone in hand to record their answers.

I look around the room, glad to find that most of the guys had changed completely. My gaze froze on Dean, who stands shirtless, frowning at Alastair. Alastair grins at him, patting Dean on the shoulder. Dean stiffens next to the other boy, his frown deepening. He shakes his head and pushes Alastair away lightly. Alastair holds his hands up, but does point a finger in Dean's face. When his dark eyes meet mine across the room, my blood seems to freeze. Alastair winks at me before moving away from Dean.

I shudder, wanting to go ask Dean what they had talked about. Dean looks in my direction, glaring at me as he tugs on his shirt. I bite my lip as he turns away, staring at the floor until Coach Singer gives me my cue to come out.

I crash into my seat, stretching out my ankle and hissing. The sun feels like a hammer as heat beats down on the diamond. Clouds are scattered about, but no hope for rain. My camera feels heavy against my chest, a nuisance since I left the locker room 9 innings ago. I snap a couple of panoramic shots of the bleachers and field, sighing. The crowd cheers as Benny cracks the bat against the ball, allowing Crowley to reach home plate. I clap with everyone else, swiping my arm across my forehead. The score's close: 5 to 6, Warriors.

With home plate in front of me, I can make out the frustrated expressions of the players. Zachariah steps up to the plate, his knuckles white around the black bat. I take a couple profile pictures of him while he waits for the pitch, using the net protecting the crowd to create an artistic frame. Zachariah hits the ball on the first pitch, filling the bases. The Angels just need 2 players to pass home plate to win the championship. Time's on their side, with about a minute left in the last inning. Enough time for one last batter.

Everyone from town cheers when Dean steps onto the field with a bat in his hand. I stand, unsteady from the heat, and move further down the bleachers to get a picture of Dean swinging. I stand against the fence, using the lens to zoom in on his face. He glances at me, then shakes his head. Swinging the bat a couple times, he steps up to the plate. The crowd holds it's breathe, waiting for the crack and the announcer to say "Home run!"

I capture a few shots of him posed above the plate, each angle of his body perfectly in tune with his surroundings. His hands twist around the bat, feet moving to settle on the clay. The crowd's shouts seem to fade out as he holds the bat up, ready for the pitch. The bulky boy in red and gold, the Warrior's pitcher, nods. He picks up his foot, twisting his body in a way I found familiar now. The ball travels from hand to mitt in a matter of seconds.

"Strike!"

Dean frowns, rolling his shoulders before taking his stance again. I swallow, looking around at the crowd. Everyone is quiet this time, holding their breath for the second pitch. Dean swings, lips tight with concentration.

"Strike two!"

Thunder rumbles on the horizon, the clouds rolling closer. I let my camera hang against my chest, gripping the fence. I whisper, "Come on, Dean. You got this…"

The pitcher takes his position again, staring Dean down. His arm goes up, his hips twist. The ball flies.

"Strike three! You're out!"

Dean's shoulders fall, his body slumps. Time and sound seem to stop as the Warriors and their fans shout and celebrate the win. The Angels stand, and huddle together around Coach Singer. He calls for them to go into the locker room after they shake hands with the Warriors. Dean stands on home plate, staring up at the sky and its promise of rain. I start walking to get free of the bleachers. I speed up the longer he stands there, staring at nothing. My heart pounds, my gut twisting when he drops the bat. His teammates go to congratulate the Warriors, but he turns to walk away.

I hold my camera to keep it from banging against my chest. Hoping to catch Dean before he goes into the locker room, I push past people heading onto the field. I lose sight of Dean in the disappointed crowd. They stare me down as I shout apologies.

Finally free, I stumble to a stop. I scan the field for Dean, sighing in relief when I find him standing next to the bleachers. However, my heart skips a beat as I watch Lisa wrap her arms around his neck and plant a kiss firmly on his lips. He melts into her embrace, breaking the kiss to hug her.

I fall back, my ankle's throbbing and a headache from the noise coming to my attention. Stammering to myself, I turn to find another way out so I can wait at the bus for the team. An arm wraps around my shoulders.

"Evening, baby blues. Good game wasn't it?" Balthazar asks, squeezing my shoulder.

I shrug, eyes still fixed on Dean. "You came?"

"I would never miss the opportunity to watch you work. Shame your boys lost…" he says, leaning closer to me. "Castiel? Is something-"

Balthazar stops when his eyes settle on what I'm staring at. He clears his throat and looks down. Turning me by the shoulders, he stares into my eyes and kisses my forehead. "I'm sorry, darling. He obviously doesn't know what he's missing out on."

I lean forward to hug him, wrapping my arms around his slender waist. Balthazar's coolness, his clean soap smell, its nothing compared to Dean. It's unfamiliar and unsatisfying. "Thanks, Balthazar…"

"My pleasure, Castiel, really," he says, pulling back and patting my hair. "Text me later? My shift starts in 30 minutes."

I nod, patting his shoulder. "Go to work, Balthazar. I'll talk to you later."

As he pushes his way through the crowd to get to the parking lot, Charlie finds me and hugs me.

"Man that was quite the game!" she says, grabbing my arm. "Sucks that we lost, but still."

I nod, wanting to turn and hug her but afraid she'll ask what's wrong. Biting my lip, I take her hand and head towards the exit so we can hear each other better. On our way out Garth punches my shoulder lightly. "Castiel! Hey man, I'm still throwing a killer party later. You guys are welcome to come, celebrate a good season."

Over Garth's shoulder, I see Lisa kiss Dean again. She holds his face in her small, feminine hands and smiles. She says things to him to try and get him to smile back, kissing him whenever he does. I focus on Garth's brown eyes and shrug.

Before I could say no however, Charlie scoffs, pinching my side. "We could both use a drink, we'll be there."

As Garth walks away, I sigh, looking down at Charlie. She frowns, crossing her arms. "Just because you don't want to see Dean doesn't mean you shouldn't live a little. Coach won't care. Most of the guys are going."

"Okay, Mothership… I'll go with you."

She grins, hugging me and talking about meeting me at the hotel after dinner. She leads me out of the park, greeting some of our classmates as I glance back. Dean kisses the top of her head, wrapping an arm around the smooth curve of her waist before heading out as well. Garth and Benny don't look to happy with the development, but do nothing about the situation. There's something dark about Dean's eyes, something dull behind the green. He stares at nothing, even when he looks at Lisa, like everything is made of empty space.

I turn back around and stare at my feet, banishing every image of making Dean feel better from my mind.


	11. Chapter 11

The pregnant storm clouds finally let rain fall, plastering my hair to my forehead. I shudder as I step onto the bus, the blue plastic seat warm compared to my damp shirt. The team walks past me down the aisle, still wearing their uniforms. Each boy stares at the floor, silent as they settle onto their seats. The rain makes the bus humid, each tired breath adding to the damp heat. Alastair scowls at me, but attempts nothing else on his way to the back of the bus. Garth and Benny climb on, shoulders slumped against the rain. They shake their heads, nod and pat the backs of their teammates.

They settle into the seat behind me, Garth reaching over to squeeze my shoulder. He offers a small smile as he says, "Helluva game, right?"

I smile back, turning slightly in my seat to face them better. "The best game I've ever witnessed. I got some great shots of your pitches if you'd like to see later."

Garth's smile grows into a grin. "I'd love that, thanks Castiel."

I shrug, examining Benny's sour expression. "It's not a problem, really. I have profiles of you too Benny. I can give you guy's copies of the pictures I don't use for your family and friends."

Benny looks up, eyebrows raised. "That'd be real nice, brother. All the pictures my dad takes are shit and this being my last game… Thanks."

I smile at the both of them, glad I could lighten their spirits a little. Looking down at my camera, I test the weight in my hands. This wouldn't be my last assignment, but somehow, it felt like the most important. These boys had worked hard to get to this point. Even if some of the players are jerks, they deserved to win.

When I look back up again, Dean steps onto the bus, followed by Coach Singer. He searches the entire bus for an open seat, his gaze landing on the spot next to me. His shoulders tense, his eyes glazed over as he frowns and takes the seat. No greeting is offered, he doesn't even glance up at me. Leaning forward, he rests his head against the seat in front of us, eyes tightly shut.

Coach stands at the front of the bus, his calm silence demanding the team's attention. He stays silent for a minute, letting the tension and humidity mix together. Finally, he takes his cap off and crosses his arms. "Ya know, boys… I can't say I'm disappointed. I can't say I'm upset. I'm proud of each and every one of ya. We fought tooth and nail to get here, and we gave those Warriors reason to really try for that trophy, didn't we?"

The boys stay silent. Some look at their laps, some stare at the bus ceiling, some hold their heads in their hands. Coach huffs, raising his voice. "Didn't we?"

A couple of them murmur their agreement, but Coach shakes his head. "I can't hear you sissies over the rain. I said, didn't we!"

Everyone looks around, smiling a little bit at Coach's insistent speech. From behind me, Garth shouts, "We gave em hell, Coach!"

Coach points at Garth, smiling. "Hell yeah we did!"

The team laughs, clapping their hands and stopping their feet. The sound harmonizes with the rain pattering against the metal roof, filling my ears with noise, with pride.

"So no more moping around like a bunch of babies. Man up. Be proud." With that, Coach Singer sits down behind the bus driver, putting his cap back on. The boys continue to clap and stomp, shouting "Angels! Angels!" over and over.

I grin, being sure to capture to moment before settling back against the seat. Beside me, Dean still rests in the same position. The bus lurches forward and around a corner, causing me to lean into his side. I flail to steady myself upright, biting my lip when he opens his eyes to glare at me. I swallow when the dull green meets my gaze. He stares at me for a couple minutes, his scowl slowly falling apart. First his eyebrows settle, the wrinkles on his forehead becoming smooth. He stops crinkling up his nose while he presses his lips together instead of frowns. His eyes stay dark, but the longer he stares the shinier they get.

I say nothing, holding my breath to keep from startling him into ignoring me again. I inhale slowly, taking in his whole face to commit it to memory. After a solid minute or so, he sighs and turns away. I open my mouth to say something, but pause. Instead, I place my hand on his shoulder, palm melding with the curve of his bicep. I can feel the warmth of his skin through his baseball jersey.

Dean tenses, flinching away from my touch. My hand tingles from where I touched him, like his skin burned me. His glare is back, and he rolls his shoulder as if the same tingling sensation bothered him as well. He mumbles, "Leave me alone, Novak."

I gape at him, cradling my hand for a second. "As you wish… Winchester."

His last name tastes unfamiliar in my mouth now, more sour than I remember. I try to swallow it, tempted to spit instead. He rests his forehead against the seat again, scooting a little farther away from me. I press up against the wall, trying to give him more space while also trying to escape my own disappointment. Shivering against the cold metal wall, I watch rain race down the window.

The hotel's exterior looks dark, the paint wet and covered in shadow from the lingering clouds. The team shuffles off the bus, shoulders slumped as they head back up to their rooms to shower and prepare for the after party. They each nod at Coach Singer who tips his hat at them. When he sees me, he calls me over. Back on my feet, my ankle throbs once again. I limp toward him, offering a smile.

"How'd your ankle hold up?" he asks, watching the rest of the team head into the hotel.

"Well enough. It's throbbing now, but I didn't really notice it during the game. I got some great pictures for the article and a slideshow gallery on the website." I stretch my arms behind my back, meeting his kind gaze with another small smile.

He nods, smiling back. "Good, I'm glad. Take another aspirin for that ankle. Thanks for your hard work, Novak."

He pats my back, gesturing towards the doors in an invitation to start walking. I match his stride, watching the ground. "It's my pleasure, Coach. See you tomorrow."

I quicken my pace, eager to shower and leave the hotel room. The less time I spend in a confined space with Dean, the better for my emotions. I slam my palm against the button in the elevator, rocking on my feet as the machine slowly shifts upward. Rubbing my temple, I step out of the elevator as soon as the doors are open wide enough. My key in hand, I finally shove the door open and let it slam shut behind me. The room smells of soap and Dean, making my muscles tense and gut flip. I'm starting to rethink taking a shower.

Dropping my camera case on the table, I place my camera back inside of it. Luckily, there's no sound in the room. Dean must still be out talking to the other players. With a sigh of relief, I snatch up a pair of dark jeans and a grey button up shirt. I grab my towel, then jog into the bathroom. Turning on the water the second I have the door shut, I strip of my clothes and the ace bandage.

The water is cold at first, but slowly warms up until it washes the tension from my shoulders. I quickly rinse off, listening for the door to open. Once I'm out and dry, I slow down. Dean still hasn't come back. With a sigh, I put on my boxers and stretch. Tendrils of steam caress my arms, swirling in front of my face and against the walls of the bathroom. My muscles relax, my pulse slowing as the anxiety-induced adrenaline fades.

I slip into my jeans, wiggling the fabric when it sticks to my damp skin. After putting on some deodorant, towel drying and brushing my hair, brushing my teeth, and cleaning my classes, I open the door. The cool air of the room sucks out the heat and steam. The breeze feels nice on my chest. I smile, sliding my arms into my shirt sleeves and rolling them up.

Padding into the room, I search around my suitcase for a clean pair of socks. I sit on the bed, putting on socks and shoes when the door opens. I jump up like I'd been shocked, whipping around to find Dean in the doorway. With Lisa right behind him. I wave awkwardly at Lisa, then look at Dean. His eyes don't meet mine however, focused on my exposed chest. He clears his throat then walks further into the room.

"Sorry…" I mutter as I fumble with the buttons of my shirt. Lisa remains the doorway, checking her phone and smiling. Her thin lips are a light shade of pink, too pastel to be natural. My mind conjures an image of Dean's fuller, darker lips kissing hers. I shudder, turning away from the girl and facing Dean, which isn't much better.

He grabs a change of clothes from his belongings, then disappears into the bathroom without looking at me again. Swallowing, I grab my wallet and my phone. I head to the door, stopping briefly in front of the bathroom. I wonder if I should say something, but glance at Lisa. She still stands there, tapping away at her phone.

I move around her, muttering, "Excuse me."

She looks up, offering her smile to me as she steps out of my way. Without looking back, I head down the hall and take out my cellphone. Dialing Charlie, I press the down button on the elevator.

"Hello?"

"Hey Mothership, it's me. I'm heading downstairs."

"Alrightie, see you in a few," she says before hanging up.

I step into the elevator, turning to face the hall again. Dean steps out of our room, wrapping Lisa in his arms and kissing her. I close my eyes, biting my lip. My stomach feels like it's full of sand, and something pounds against my ribcage. I lean my forehead against the cool metal, wishing that this trip was over with.

...

When I stop at the entrance of the restaurant, I notice Charlie waving from the corner of the dining room. I nod at the hostess, smiling a little at Charlie as I approach the table. She smiles back, but her eyes are full of questions, which she can't seem to keep to herself.

"Have you and Dean kissed and made up yet?" she asks as soon as I pull up my chair.

I ignore her eyes, choosing to examine the menu in front of me instead. "No, Mothership. We have not."

She sighs, throwing up her hands before dropping them onto her lap. I glance up at her, watching her look away and mumble to herself. "How's he dealing with the loss?"

I shrug, flipping the page of my menu and scanning the alcoholic drinks. I could use a beer. "I wouldn't know. He's been with Lisa Braeden since the end of the game."

Charlie gasps, snatching away my menu so I have to look at her. I frown, slumping against the back of my chair and crossing my arms. I notice that I had started biting my lip again, and sigh.

"Lisa Braeden? Seriously?" She reaches across the table and pokes me in the chest. "You're letting him go to her?"

I gape at her, stuttering for a second. "This isn't my fault!"

Charlie sighs, rubbing her temples. "Castiel, you should just kiss the bitch and stop all his questions about sexuality..."

Before I can answer, another voice chimes in, "I couldn't agree more. Baby blues needs to grow some balls and kiss the bastard."

I look up and frown at Balthazar. "Really? You think that's the best idea? Kiss the guy who told me not to get any ideas?"

Balthazar grins, putting his hands on his hips. "I told you, you'll either strike out or get a home run."

He winks, turning to a confused looking Charlie and grinning. "My name is Balthazar. I'll be your server for the night. Can I get you two to drink?"

She blinks, then looks at me. "I... I'll have a coke."

Balthazar turns to me, still grinning, his eyes almost dancing. "And you, baby blues?"

"Dr Pepper, please," I say, looking at Charlie still gapes. "Um... Balthazar, this is my best friend Charlie. Charlie, Balthazar gave me his number and we started talking."

Balthazar bows, winking at Charlie. "Pleasure to meet you. I'll be right back with those drinks."

Charlie watches him walk away, shaking her head. "Jesus Castiel, you didn't tell me youd become belle of the ball..."

I laugh, taking my menu back. "Balthazar is a nice guy, but I assure you nothing is gonna happen. He's been supportive of this Dean problem. He loves to tease him."

"Well good, someone agrees that you need to make a move because Dean obviously won't. He's stuck in a heteronormal mind set. He wants to be normal. That's what happened in 8th grade. He doesn't want Alastair to give him shit, probably because news like that could get home."

Charlie rests her chin on her hand, watching me while Balthazar reappears with our drinks. Charlie orders a burger while I get a personal pizza. He saunters away with no sarcastic comments, hopping between tables to make sure all his customers are satisfied. I follow his movements, happy for the distraction.

"You're coming to the after party with me right?" she asks, taking a sip of her drink.

Without looking away from Balthazar, I say, "I will. I need a beer."

Charlie giggles, and I turn away from Balthazar. I take the paper wrapper from my straw and rip it into tiny shreds, watching the pile of white grow in front of me. Charlie frowns slightly at me.

"You shouldn't worry so much, Castiel. I'm sorry that I've been so pushy. Lets just have a good time tonight, okay?" She reaches out with her hand, placing it on mine before I reach for a napkin to tear apart.

I put my hands down on the table and nod. "Yeah, it's okay. You're right. I wont be a stick in the mud."

Charlie grins, holding up her cup. "Good, because tonight, we drink."


	12. Chapter 12

Charlie hits the automatic lock on her key ring. The tail lights of her red Ford Fiesta flash. The honk echoes through the empty street, a short blast compared to the continuous buzzing of music coming from Garth's home. The window curtains are closed, but glowing with the lights inside. However, the house looks almost empty.

"I think we're a bit early, Mothership," I say, looking over the roof of the car at Charlie. She walks around to my side, smiling at the house. She shrugs.

"You're anxious. I figured you could use a drink before anyone got here."

I smile, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Good thinking."

The sun had disappeared behind the trees, light trickling between the branches. Fog from the thunder storm rests over the street, making everything almost eerie as we approach the house. Charlie knocks, bouncing on her toes and grinning. Garth opens the door, eyes wide with surprise when he finds us on his doorstep.

"Castiel!" he exclaims, holding out a hand for me to shake. I take it with a smile. He opens the door wider, "Come on in. You guys are early."

Charlie laughs, taking my arm and dragging me into the living room. Couches and other furniture are pushed back, turning the center of the room into a dance floor. Some small lights flash in the corner next to a stereo. The blue walls make the room bright and welcoming.

"You guys want a drink? I got beer, wine and punch." Garth claps his hands together, grinning at us. The weight that's been sitting on my chest since this morning lessens a little as I smile back. His lanky frame stands out in the wide room, his red tee shirt accenting the sharp angle of his shoulders.

"Beers please," Charlie says for me, squeezing my arm when she sees the smile on my face.

Garth turns, leading us into the kitchen. He opens a cooler on the floor next to the fridge and hands us two Buds. I hold mine up to him in thanks, popping the top off against the counter. Charlie hands me hers, and I do the same. Garth raises an eyebrow as he pulls out his own bottle.

"Should we toast?" he asks, the electronic music from the living room murmuring around us.

"Not without me, brother," Benny's voice shouts. He steps into the kitchen, arms as wide as his smile. "Give me a Coors."

Garth tosses him the can, which Benny pops open with one finger. Raising it above his head, he says, "To a good fucking season."

Garth raises his glass back, "A-fucking-men." We all drink, sighing after the first sip. The coolness of it trickles down my throat, settling the heat in my stomach. I gulp down a couple more sips, smacking my lips when I realize the bottle's empty. I look around for a trash can and find my friends staring at me.

"Well, damn brother. Thirsty?" Benny asks, smirking. I laugh breathlessly, shrugging.

"It's been a long day," I say, finding the trashcan. I drop the bottle into the bin, rubbing the back of my neck as I turn back around. Everyone stays quite for a second, letting the music fill the room. No one chooses to break the comfortable silence until the doorbell chimes. Garth sets his drink down and wipes the condensation off on his pants.

"I'll get it," he says, disappearing around the corner. Benny spins on his heel to follow him, leaving Charlie and I in the kitchen. She pats my shoulder.

"It's gonna be fine Castiel. You won't even know he's here," Charlie says, taking my hand and putting her empty bottle in the trash. "Let's dance."

I laugh, the cool smoothness of the beer trickling its way into my bloodstream. I'm not tipsy, but feel lighter as Charlie tugs me into the living room. A large group of people from school pour into the house, shouting at Benny and Garth over the music. Garth continues to hold the door open as some of his teammates roll up, walking across the lawn in a pack.

Alastair nods at Garth and Benny, Crowley, and some of the other players behind him. I turn away from the door, focusing on Charlie's dancing. She rocks her body to the beat, hands up by her shoulders and elbows out. As she turns her hips, she nods her head and bounces on her toes. Eyes closed, she completely focused on the music. I laugh, causing her to open her eyes.

"You wanna laugh, Castiel?" Charlie yells over the music, poking me in the chest. "You dance."

I take her hands in mine, moving our arms towards her, then my body. We turn our hips and feet at the same time, smiling at each other. Charlie throws her head back and laughs. Other people join in, grinding and bouncing around us. I spin us, hands still entwined as the beat intensifies. We let go of each other, hands raised as we jump with everyone. Someone's back touches mine, moving in a similar motion. The whole group moves together, one mass instead of a bunch of individuals. The music pounding in my heart, I laugh again. Everything tense in my body relaxes, and I breathe easier.

Time escapes us, our minds focused only on the beat. Each individual movement feeds off another; where the movement came from, we don't care. We laugh and shout the lyrics. When Garth dims the lights, we cheer, safe inside this pulsing cocoon. I stop dancing, panting as I look at the people around me. They pay no attention to me, engrossed in the beauty of their own bodies at work. I undo a couple button of my shirt, feeling the heat dance around me. I notice Charlie's gone now, dancing with another girl I've never seen before. I smile, pushing to get out of the crowd and into the kitchen for another drink.

I wobble for a second once off the dance floor, struggling to settle my breathing. My muscles tingle as I step into the kitchen. The room feels cool compared to the other, the cold touch of ice comforting on my hands.

"Hand me one?"

I yank my hands out of the cooler, bottle in my hands. Dean looks at me for a second, face blank. I hold it out to him, trying to keep my face void of emotion as well.

"Yeah, here." He takes the bottle without touching my skin and I kneel to fish for another bottle. When I stand up, I don't expect Dean to still be there. Yet, there he is, struggling to open his bottle. He glances up when he realizes I'm staring at him. He smiles slightly, and my heart skips a beat.

"Damn bottle's slippery," he says, looking back at the drink. He's got the hem of his tee shirt around the cap, hand curled around it over the fabric. I raise an eyebrow, and hold out my hand.

"May I?" I ask, the noise of the party disappearing around me.

He frowns a little, but puts the bottle back in my hand. "Yeah, whatever."

Setting my own drink on the counter, I open his against the edge. I hand the bottle and cap back over to him, trying to not smirk at his surprised expression. Opening mine, I raise it in salute.

He snorts, shaking his head and drinking. I attempt to walk away, but his hand reaches out and grabs my shoulder. "Novak-"

Lisa appears out of nowhere and wraps her arms around his waist. Her hips sway out, matching the beat of some song. Eyes bright, she kisses his cheek.

"Hey, Dean," she coos, pressing her chest against his arm. "Wanna dance?"

He nods, offering a smile. I examine his face, furrowing my eyebrows when I notice the strain in his expression. "Of course, baby."

He glances at me over his shoulder on their way to the dance floor. I frown and shake my head, the image of him flinching away from me too clear in my mind. I sigh, scanning the room for a back door. Finding it, I step outside.

The air feels fresh in my lungs, cool with nightfall. I brush my hair from my forehead and take a deep breath. A couple people loot about a patio, another glass door connecting it to the living room. Chatter and music ooze from the door, but otherwise, it's peaceful. A couple trees populate Garth's back yard, casting even darker shadows across the lawn. I sit on the grass, taking a couple swigs from my drink. This time the liquid feels almost warm against my throat.

Lying back, I fold my arm under my head. The moon hangs just over the horizon, making it look like it's resting on the tops of pine trees across the street. It's full, craters and grooves visible even from light years away. I'm tempted to reach out and take it, a glowing and flawed jewel to keep in my pocket. A couple stars around it burn brighter than light pollution, a handful of specs across a velvet sky.

I close my eyes. Thoughts from today bounce around in my mind, dancing to a song of their own. The warmth and wholeness of this morning before Dean woke up makes my heart pang. I try to pull the memory of it over me like a blanket, a hollow comparison to the actual feeling. A light breeze tickles the strip of exposed skin on my stomach from where my shirt rode up. I focus on the sensation, drowning the noise out from around me. Some deep breaths later, I'm on the verge of sleep. Color crawls around like caterpillars under my eyelids, taking place of thought.

I sigh, trying to feel the freedom I felt while dancing instead. However, a loud noise comes from the house, followed by multiple shouts. I open my eyes, watching the people on the patio rushing inside to see what happened. I sit up, squinting to try and see inside the house. It looks almost as if people are standing in a ring, like for a dance circle or a fight.

"Al! Stop!" Lisa screams, her voice shrill. I stand up, my heart pounding before I even start running for the house. Garth is shouting over the music, trying to get through the group. I can't make out what he's saying, the chants and music too loud.

I stop in the doorway, looking for a chair to stand on to see what's happening in the center. Finding a recliner, I jump onto it. In the center of the small ring of people stands Alastair, face a light shade of red. He takes a wobbly step forward. He bellows over the music, shoving another person's shoulders.

"It's your fault we lost!"

My heart drops into my stomach and the air is sucked out of my lungs. I reach out for the wall to keep from falling.

Dean shouts over the other people, holding his hands up. "Al… calm down. You've had a couple drinks…"

Alastair's face flushes even more, and he punches Dean in the nose. The memory of his fist hitting me over and over resurfaces, making me cringe. "Don't tell me what to do! You cost us the game!"

"Al, stop…" Dean says back, holding his nose. He doesn't try to swing back, side stepping to keep out of Alastair's reach.

"Come on, Dean…" I whisper, chewing my bottom lip. "Fight back…"

"And yer' a faggot too! A fucking fag cost us the championship! You can take it up the ass but can't hit a fucking baseball!" Alastair stumbles, but swings again. This time the blow lands on Dean's stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He kneels over instinctively, allowing Alastair to elbow the back of his head. Garth still struggles to get through the ring of people. Benny struggles to get out of Crowley's grip, face shiny with the effort.

Dean crumbles to the ground, kicking at Alastair's shins. I feel the impact in my own legs, sense the desperation racing through my veins, and hear my heart pounding in my ear. I jump down from the recliner, elbowing people to get past them. Their protests at my jabs are dull compared to my heart beat. I bite my lip, shoving harder when Alastair yells "Faggot!"

I break free of the circle, and stumble to my knees. I take a deep breathe through my nose and stand, fists clenched. I face Alastair, who turns his glazed eyes to me. He laughs, clapping his hands.

"Look, Winchester, yer' little boyfriend is here to save you!" Alastair wipes a fake tear from his eye as I step in front of Dean. His nose is bleeding, along with his lip, and he's holding his stomach like he's been kicked. My face flushes with anger as I hold up my fists.

Alastair's laughter turns into silent chuckles as he shakes his head. "We know how this ends, Novak. You on the floor next to your boyfriend."

I snarl, settling into a comfortable pose. "Leave him alone, Alastair."

He shrugs and grunts, holding up his fists. He takes a step towards my left, wobbling a little. My hand whips out and snags his right fist before it can make contact with my face. I turn my body, twisting his arm in the process. He growls in pain, trying to swing at me with his other arm as I let go. I hold up my arms again, but kick his chest instead as he swings. He stumbles back with a grunt, holding his stomach. I hold his head by the neck, and knee his face.

Shoving him to the ground, I grab his shirt front and growl. "Forgot to warn you, I got kick boxing lessons after our last altercation."

He tries to squirm out of my grip, but I lift him up and slam him against the floor. I punch his face. "That's for torturing me since I came out." My knuckles crack against his jaw. "And that's for being a drunk douchewad. Leave us the fuck alone."

I shove his shirt away and stand up. I take a deep breath, looking back at Dean. He stares up at me, mouth open in shock. Everyone around me is silent, gaping at me. The adrenaline drains from my body so quickly my legs start to shake. I stammer for a second, feeling tears coming for some reason. I start running, pushing past people to get out. To get away. Something confines my chest, squeezes my lungs. The room's too small, too hot. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

Someone calls out my name, but I'm already out the front door. The street is dark, vacant. Humidity presses down on my shoulders as I start sprinting. It's just me, the air, and the sound of my feet smacking into the pavement. Each slap of sneaker against asphalt calms me down. I slow to a jog, trying to get my heart to slow down. I stop in the middle of the road, looking behind me. The house seems quiet from down the street, a calm place instead of a place full of tension and insanity.

I sit on the edge of the side walk. A street light flickers above me as I rest my head between my knees. My body starts to rock when a sob escapes my throat. My body trembles, the muscles in my legs cramping. A couple tears fall onto the pavement, grey splashes against the white. Pain like thorns twists in my chest, wraps around my lungs and making my breath ragged. I close my eyes.

The silence of the street settles around me, a heavy weight resting on my shoulders. I try to breathe around the shock in my chest. When the sound of footsteps travels down the street, I flinch but don't get up. I expect Charlie's voice, low with concern and disapproval or loud with amazement to greet me when the steps get closer. But it's just silence and footsteps.

I don't look up, afraid of what might be expression on Charlie's face, and I just can't take that.

The footsteps end. She groans as she sits next to me on the pavement, her thigh pressed up against mine. The physical connection makes me flinch and turn slightly away from her. Her voice is too low.

"I told ya, Novak. You have fucking super powers," Dean says.

I lift up my head to stare at him, arms still wrapped around my knees. My last name sounds sweet now, thick like honey. He smiles softly at me, his face clean of blood, but still bruised. I can't bring myself to smile back. I can't even bring myself to look into his eyes, brighter than I had seen them all afternoon.

"Dean… I'm so sorry. I should have minded my own business. He's going to make your life hell-"

"Stop, Cas," he says, voice soft. He leans forward to catch my gaze in his, making me face him again. His eyes are wide, almost pleading. Closer now. His thigh presses against mine, our shoulders touching. The air tingles around us with the ghost of music. I find myself resting my weight against him, my mind saying to back away.

"You did nothing wrong, Cas…" he whispers, searching my eyes. "Alastair is a giant bag of dicks and has been a douche to everyone for years. He deserved the ass whooping you gave him."

I blink, body still shaking. He leans closer, his eyes big as the moon and freckles like stars across his cheeks. I swallow.

"Dean, what Alastair said… about the game… it's not true."

Dean shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second. "It is true… I... haven't been myself today."

I sigh. Guilt squeezes my rib cage, but I don't look away from Dean's open expression. I whisper, "That's my fault… what happened this morning-"

"What happened this morning," Dean interrupted, touching my shoulder gently. "Is not your fault. I was a douche, and you didn't deserve that… not when…"

Dean swallows, looking down then back up again. His eyes shine under the street light, his skin glowing. Each eyelash casts a shadow over the curve of his cheekbones, softening his face. His lips, red and slightly swollen from the fight, are parted. He doesn't say anything else, just stares at me for a minute.

"Dean? Not when… what? Is something wrong?" I murmur, watching his eyes glance at my lips.

"What I said this morning…" he starts, clearing his throat. "I shouldn't have said that… not when… well not when…"

His hand moves up my neck, caressing my face. His skin is warm against mine as his thumb strokes over my cheek and under my eyes. He closes the remaining inch or two between us, our noses brushing. He pauses, eyes wide and staring into mine. The green becomes as engulfing as the sea, waves of color crashing against his pupils.

"Not when I was dreaming of this…"

He leans forward, pressing his lips against mine gently. I can feel my heart beat throb in my bottom lip as he bites it. I pull back enough to see his whole face. He smiles, and laughs breathlessly, head thrown back.

I gasp when he kisses me again, angling his head to apply more pressure. My thoughts melt away. Every sensation around me- the hardness of the concrete, the ache in my muscles from running, the discomfort in my stomach from anxiety, the sweat on my back from dancing- crumbles into dust. He tastes of blood and beer, his tongue velvet against my chapped lips.

My arms let go of my knees, clutching the front of his flannel shirt instead. My legs stretch out, allowing Dean to press closer, both hands holding my face. His fingers scratch lightly at my hair. He smells of rain and heat and a baseball field. Like earth. His hand travels down my back, tickling my spine, clutching at my shirt. He bites my bottom lip, making me jump and moan against his mouth.

He laughs, resting his forehead against mine. I laugh as warmth, that sense of home, rushes through my body. It settles in my bones, makes the smell of wet asphalt sweet. It fills my chest, burns the thorns around my lungs.

My heart skips a beat when I remember where we are, my voice stumbling as I say, "Dean? What about…"

He leans away, kissing my forehead and petting my hair. "Lisa? I just need to end it… I already told you. I want more than that…"

He searches my eyes, offering a smile. His raised eyebrow asks if I'll stay despite that situation. I shake my head, ask, "Me?"

He nods, kissing the corner of my mouth while tracing my jaw. I shudder as he says, "Sorry but I'd rather have you, gay or not."

I laugh, nuzzling his neck. I wrap my arms around his chest, giggling when he pulls me onto his lap. "And Alastair?"

I hear him snort. "He can go to hell."

I shiver against him, my mind making the memories more vivid than I care for.

He growls, voice serious despite our cuddling. "Let me bottom line it for you, I'm not leaving here without you."

I sit up, rubbing my face with my hands. Looking at him, I rest my hand on his neck, tracing the shape with my fingers. He examines my soft smile and raises an eyebrow.

I pull him towards me, kissing him over and over while laughing to myself.

"Home run," I mumble in-between kisses.


End file.
